We are a disjointed body,

crippled by their oppressive

strength;

they strive by walking

over us.

 

Our rights don't matter

until the november polls;

they swing freely in the air,

over our heads laughing.

 

The money we make

is the instrument they

use to 

cripple us further.

We move on,

we brush off,

and bow our heads in silence.

 

But soon enough we will 

come through.

In peace and with our

heads held high;

 

For they can lumps us into bottles 

but cannot account for every

drop.

And still, from scattered drops 

we can gather

to make waves.

 

One must remember:

of many we are a sea,

of minds a limitless sea.