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It’s DISTURBING To Me To See Communities... Who CLAIM To Be Supportive... of HONEST Poetry...
Now We May Have Had... A FEW ... !!! Who Were Seen As........ “ COOL “........ Who Made Positive Moves To Uplift Black Groups...
Ya Know... I REALLY AIN’T About THAT... !!! Running Chat That’s CRAP To PLEASE These Clans... of CANCELLING Gangs Who Behave Like The KLAN of Ku Klux MANS... !!!
You See... MANY Have Tried … !!! And MANY Have LIED … !!! And MANY By My Pen … Are … Lyrically FRIED... !!!! Burned To... ASHES … !!! Grabbed And SMASHED KID … !!!
Well It Seems Nowadays THAT..." Black Lives Matter "..... ? Well I'd Say THE HUMAN Factor... Is What We SHOULD RECAPTURE... !!!!!!!! IN FACT What I Mean Is... "Capture"... !!!
Bob Said These Words So... " OVER - Stand "... !!! ... "You can't tell the woman, from the man ?" ... And NOW These Words Are RARELY Heard... Because The TRUTH Is Now IN VIEW...
So James Baldwin’s Words Would Appear To Be FACT... If You’re Creative And Black And Are Down With The Alphabet Gender Pack... !!! You’ll Get FAST Tracked Into... Earning Cash...
Well Now It’s Pretty Clear And... OBVIOUS... That PEOPLE LIKE THEM Really Cause PROBLEMS... !!! Right From The Top Down... Political Clowns... Whose Talk Should Be ... DROWNED ... !!!
Ya Know I Hear A LOT OF NOISE... From... IGNORANT BOYS... !!! About Their Toys And ALL Their Ploys... That Make Them THIS... !!! And Make Them...THAT... !!!
Bumped again by crowds she freezes Surprised by people all around She scans the swathe of nameless faces But the one she wants cannot be found. A small hand tugs upon her sleeve—
Art is aesthetic, pleasing to the eye, but also utilitarian as in pottery the warmth of a woven blanket... and whether it is primitive or modern simple or complex
Why do you try To fit in When you’re a limited edition? Alter your dreams And you become A sacrifice to the system. Be an adventurer. Chase your dreams And find answers. Never give up
This is the common sap of humanity's tree. It flows within us all. A shared communion enabler and advancer lifting us above our animal origins. Language- the magical gift of mankind,
Sometimes I can still hear the sounds of yesteryears- my family's voices, their conversations reverberate. And I recall my father's and uncle's ardent discussions of the revolution
I’ve traveled to many countries, Met people white black and brown, I’ve seen beautiful locales,
A Woman I Know Keeps Talking As Though... The Way People Live Is Going Through A... " SHIFT "...
So It’s CLEAR That ILLUSIONS Are Now Being PROVEN ... !!! So ... Alphabet Genders Are Now The TRENDSETTERS ... !!!
Vagabond, humming- bird hearted fluttering to and fro sipping the sweetness ( often the bitterness) of this thing called life. Migratory Migrant like a Monarch wafting with
I inhabit a liminoid space- of borders as birthright and I span, sometimes straddle three cultures. - it is a delicate balance a tightrope walk though mostly a fusion
Childless, the lineage ends with me- poet, my only legacy- mere words. And the older I've become the more my ancestry- the tracing of my roots holds a fascination
I see a green tree I think of her I see a green Starbucks straw I think of her I see a green road sign I think of her
I am of those people, who love the violin whether the strings weep in a dolorous lamentation or dance with a leap of ecstasy. I am of those people, who know the taste
Through the rolling waves of time, The core of existence has never altered nor refined. Starting with the first faint memories of a family dinner: White jasmine rice with a selected number of simple side dishes.
What is your ethnicity? I'm Hmong. Mongolia? No, Hmong. Miao Tzu. A hill tribe of China.
15 June 9:54 AM I do not like the present so I live in the past A culture that had its troubles but did its best to over come until the last
I am as bright as the quetzal bird, flowing within meBelieving history is in meWhere my wings are CUT off when wanting to FLYWanting a renewal of lifeSomewhere uniformlyThe heavens may touch upon us
I started off so timid and shy. Conformity, humility.
The air was cool that morning, Matching the sky’s lavender and peachy hues. Vehicular white noise And the wind’s quiet whispers Lulled the peaceful baby to sleep.
To wonder under great arcing hollows, to gaze upon the cracking art, knowing not what is to follow and knowing not what was the start To peer into the eyes of blessed saints,
I can’t pinpoint the exact moment when I discovered I was Mexican Of course, I always knew But snippets of realization Sprinkled into my lifetime of 16 years
Known by history for its wretched despair Broken ankles link by link hauled to a grave A life most ignominious that one would never want to be spare
Each kid proudly sang and the whole courtyard was filled with high pitched voices and laughter. Little bodies of deep tan skin, about twenty of them. Michael, the leader of the classroom.
"Somewhere", spoke the grey lips in the wall.Somewhere before sunrise,before the first bird crows to dawnand the apathetic are yet to uncurlthe grit that gathers like dustbetween the fold of shallow eyes.
I am culture.I'm special.I'm singular.I have been represented in many ways.Divided and changed.But I'm always the same.I'm united.By my true from.By the thruth.
Always been surrounded by many different races Always talking to different people, yet, no place where I belong Not fitting into my own race and other races
Rojo, meaning red. It is the hue of our blood and what keeps coursing through our veins to keep us alive. On my flag it is the color to represent the union of Europe and the Americas,
When I look around and see Death and destruction following, It's then, I wonder what's the beef? We're all the same inside. Brown, black, yellow, and white are colors that tend to identify,
I am a lotus, once grown in the dirty, filthy mud A flower that resonates with the sun and the northern mountains filled with flood I am a buffalo who is big, stubborn, dark-skinned, and slow
I express my identity through poetry. Who I am and who I hope to one day be Bleeds through the tip of my pen In a rush of eloquence, My stream of consciousness.
Historians agree that our ancestors lived in caves. Sheltered under a rock, we adapted to walls, a safety mechanism. From caves to townhomes, we kept our walls, built a fourth one, shaded the windows,
They took our pastures of greener grass in exchange for bibles Evictng us from our homes Leaving us to wander Pass our seas and into boats that can barely manage the breeze
through my brown skin and monolid eyes, through the sunspots on my cheeks and my short stature, the entirety of the philippines and mexico sits in my dna. soaring through my veins and searing through my skin
We were freaks Clowns and ringleaders Dwarfs and bearded ladies. We were oddities created by a society That didn’t accept curiosities.
Culture was a tangled set of headphones, tying itself into knots based on arbitrary labels that had more to do with geography and lineage than politics.
Life in silence is indeed no lifeLife in silence is constant strifeLife in silence, suffering is rife
I refuse to submit to the brainwashing of Faith. I am liberated through The world; I am limited by Religious culture. To live, I thrive off of beautiful things like
I don't need Humanism To be good, I require only God. I don't need man-made distractions such as Technology and modern advancements To live, I thrive off of beautiful things like
I am from where you pray over every meal you eat - whether in your bedroom or the dining room table.
Dear America: Look around just for a second. See the people around you look at their features odds are, they're pretty similar to yours. White Brown Yellow Black
Fallen in love with things unseen Culture I have adored People I'v never met before Inspired beyond reward Trapped in this selfish humanity Gated we'll always be
Society its always the answer or the well thought out solution. theres no room for any type of change or evolution, When you know the revolution, won’t be televised but you stayed tuned in.
37.1 trillion cells 23 pairs of chromosomes 46 chromosomes total 4 stories The pigment of my skin, a reminder of the humid city my family came from.
Step one is to think statistically To believe that you are different and unable Boy, You are not superhumanYou are neither Jesus nor Michael Phelps, so don’t you dare swim More than fifteen meters in
I wanted to work with the idea of void that John Stezaker had when he created a collage of ready made post card and filled these images inside faces.
Who are you To criticize her And wear her clothes To make fun of her culture But look in the mirror And say "it looks good on me" And wear it the next day, just because you can.
We the people We the people divided We the people alienated We the varied We the broken. We who break each other down and hide behind the pieces. We who have bled,
A loose grip on a wheel Used to guide a machine A titan fist drives an upheaval of frustration into a raveen Cultural Pride is like picking sides Its hard to get out of it It will get around you
Just like a heartbeat, white people are born with white privilege, Looking at me you would never guess that I am 50% Hispanic, According to my Maybelline foundation stick,
My grandmother saw America not as a land of opportunity, but as a last resort. Taking off only when there was nothing left Leaving because a twenty-six-year-old with four children cannot provide on a dime.
I stood bare foot up first words whisper, to adapt I must adopt. An image no more a minority to the wide spread hatred we call war.
On a special morning in December 20 years ago I landed with only 2 suitcases I cried, missing all the familiar faces I was scared
"Wake Up Neo. "The Matrix has you." Digital Mind Control. Green codes align with the receptors of our brain.
I. They tell me that I am so lucky to be Korean. My friends pour their hearts out over celebrities that I cannot relate to My parents tell me of traditions that I never took part in
Traveling and language learning are my passions;So I do it as much as possible.From skimping out on homework to study KoreanTo studying abroad in Japan and Seoul in the summer of '16The excitement never ends
Music culture is widespread and personal. Music can be understood, felt, and developed all over the world. Music notes on a sheet of paper can be played and interpretted by all of those who know the language
Does your mother strain her brain for words and correct English pronunciation patterns the same way you strain your eye muscles at the minuscule black letters hovering from the
The boiling sun beaming off of the vibrant multicolored fruits, resting on the wooden boxes in the middle of a typical Sunday afternoon marketplace. The smell of freshly picked flowers being sold for only 2 euros.
Should I be more conscious of the rough brick pressing up against my back? Is my insignificance rooted solely in the pavement of downtown Corvallis? Warm hello's can't pierce such
A Southern Girl I dreamt of painting Who upon her canvas, had a high reaching colorful outlook of her future But what an ordeal she faced, As all girls within cultural confines,
Lively soul, from the house of ocean and heavens, vibrant, ephemeral. Plagued by malady at every turn, pierced by cupid's arrow, bones crushed by conveyance, blossomed ardor,
At age 5 I heard that 'boys will be boys' I learned that boys had more privileges than I because they were luckily born into it At age 10 my mother told me to act proper, say your please and thank you's, don't speak out
I am from do the dishes and get your homework donefrom stay in the yard where I can see youI am from the neat, organized rooms surrounding meHope, comfort, and happiness
The ghost of a pantherLeave me in jungle searching for answersRewriting the constitution I'm losing my stamina.The test of a common cancer.I search for the damage.The keep calling me Moses.
Our lives are merged together,Here in this momentWe are one, yet manyOur colors fly highVibrant, different colorsMerged together, seemingly invisible in this red,blue and white flag.We are merged together
What does poetry mean to me? Why you even asking? Every day I'm rapping Brain bruised, I refuse to take asprin Lyrics are the cure Beats bump big, so it's hard to hear I gotta make my topic clear
I'm more than the colour of my skin You can talk that talk But you won't see what’s within Another day passes And you wanna assume the worse Yet I try to pass my classes
Vietnam my home away from home. The place where parents were born From the loud motorcycle's horn, To the vast street vendors across the town, To the dreams I discover in the fields of rice,
It was a myth that held me back, a stubborn kid, ready to be "mature". Forget Doctor Seuss, I wanted to go Wilde. I wanted to paint a picture, not say Trees are green,
They continued to struggle Living in the cracks With the problems they juggled Because they are black But then they came out
Beautiful faces,don’t leave beautiful tracesas dying culturesand nude sculptureshave in Rome. We have subcultures of the like:Scene, MOD, Emo, Hipsters,trendsetters that write newsletters
We the (conniving & coy) We the (sullen & somber) We the heartaches the heartbreaks. Quell the earths quakes with equivalent exchange of natural disasters-
Poetry! My pride, my joy, my only form Of reaching out into the dark, dank place That is our world. It is my emotional storm, Helping me see the gray face Caught in between the black and white
It takes me back to when I was young, Bold. Fearless, and told to “Rub some dirt in it,” Before being fit into a mold And told That this is what life is.
I have a story A story of powerA story of cultureA story of familyA story of resistance
(Villanelle) Half my blood and spirit comes from that place A final result from seeds of heroes Cultivating pride like a rice terrace Calamities killing us all as one
If I could bring anything, I would bring my edgy socks They breathe between who I am now and the steps I am taking to become They smoothen the edges I have formed around my insides
Protective pillars stacked around me, pages of promise, worn and loved. I am safe. Lives to live through, lessons unfold. I learn. Travel through time and traverse the world. I grow.
My culture is influential, I stress the second, Because the media flies’ habit to popularize my Culture makes me question the impact of my Reflection.
Thy desolate land cannot contain, the phenomenon of which is so mundane; And yet from each eternal ray of light, thou continues to amaze with everything right. A glimmer, a response, none without; the true light within.
In childhood, I was cut off from my family.Unable to speak in and on their terms,I reached for the tongue long lost to me.
The one thing I can not live without is the pursuit of knowledge its what drives us to seek and develop new ideas what pushes us away from the label of senseless apes that society imposes on us
I wish my culture would teach men to accept rejection. To stop showing up drunk to partiesand grabbing the arms of frightened women who are too afraid to say no.
Handwriting a personality a story a first impression and a lifetime of learning of patience of hardships
I am not African.I am not Black.I am not Caucasian,Hispanic, Filipino, or Asian.I am not a Melting Pot,but I have surely been influenced by - I am not a NegroNor am I a Niggerand don't say "Nigga, please"or start any conversation with"What's up, m
Inanimate objects are the strive for empty feelingIn a void of a preconditioned milieu Addiction flourishes in this Skinner Box of incentivized need wherein the commodity breeds the commoditized manA philistine in need is unlettered indeed in the
in white she was to be in in a different place eighteen of the ninth month it was to be white as an angel she was having papers of white time took its time
Another story on the news just broke A father just died from being choked Just like an innocent boy with a toy got killed And a teen with his hands up was shot against his will
Peeping at the world from behind her mothers hand, she gasped in awe at what was before her, curious for more. However, as she grew, her skill of precision
I AM… Cultured.
Gratitute towards life overwhelms me I go about my day in optimism and curiousity Productivity is the fuel
Do you see beautiful? Do you... Well... Do you see beautiful in me? Sorry for asking. It's just, Maybe beautiful is A choice, not a birthright.
There was a fundamental disconnectas he thrust out his hand to shakemine and missed three feet wide.One eye looked off left and the otherseemed to stare right through me.
He moved here for people like me From an old place called Italy But never lost sight of his family And wanted them to see what he had He didn’t want them to be sad He had a son Only one
Love is NOT a fairy tale It is nightmare One minute he tells you he would never make you do anything you didn't want to
I can't hear them, do they sleep? No they lie awake way down deep. Beneath a state big and wide. In another one they reside. All I see is silence in the midst. As I write a poem turning my wrist.
i hope you understand that i love you we've been together 4 forever year by year we grow closer why dont you see it falling 4 u and u only
In your room of stairs, Look who's talking, Full of slander no one care's Back drop of dispair media whispering say you prayer's No one care's for the opinoin of such mindless minoins,
On the outside, when I am at school or professional:
What ever happened to our American dream?Did it fade in the past,
Brought into this world full of killers drug dealers crooked cops i look around and there's no one to help a would without heroes ? how have we survived this many years ?
grandmama, tell me.
america bbq and Budlight corporations
I am happy to join with you today in what will go down in history as the greatest demonstration for freedom in the history of our nation. We cannot walk alone.
Pursuit to gratification rises all the time. Subconscious mind always over me, Saying no-no go on until the thirst is quenched... My patience bursts unhappy when not met fulfillment,
Look at me and you will see my skin is fair.
As we walk on this world Full of anger and hate Nos vemos nosotros getting dirty of it De lejos venimos to look for a dream Un sueño, that makes us forget what really exists
Yesterday I thought I was dead My pen was gone My brush had disappeared My brain was lost The clouds were gray And the sky was black The rivers were full of blood
Thoughts of humanity stir ins
"How beautiful," I say
Movies, literature Culture in general This world is one of wonders Wonders that I am proud to experience Diversity is abundant With much difference
Under broken boards and shattered windows, Under pristine white walls and polished concrete, Lays a world you dismiss, One of color and laughs,
The bustle of people, yeah classes are starting again.
Behind my smiles My good deeds My leadership My love for others Behind the eyes of those who look highest of me Who seek my guidence Behind all that i am I am paranoid
The perfect skyline Promises all the mystery and beauty
To the love in my life, mi cultura querida: You feel like Latin soul, Baby let that music play,
Well I've been sitting around lately
I am from my Dad’s trumpet calls announcing early church services I’m from words and phrases composed with love and tears From late night prayers kneeling by my bed wrapped in more than just my pink blanket
A country for the free, it was supposed to be To be unique and new, equality to all With innocence upheld, Lady Justice was blind New labor laws intact, kept the people alive
What explains the difference among differences? My mind troubled by the puzzle A maze in which chaos makes sense Differences more acceptable than others Lost, tumbled, shaken, and forgotten
My dream job is not anything out of the ordinary. I don't want fame, nor attention. I just want to help people. The dream job that I achieve is being a doctor.
Far from home they fight, In a land that’s not their own. Their enemy has no face, Yet they fight on. In a time of terror Not knowing who is friend or who is foe,
My name is Tecun Uman I am a legend An ancestor Carried as a sacred bundle A spirit A memory By my burned and burdened children But my progeny starve They feed off my spirit
Our art has no real meaning behind it And if you ask us, we’ll say “I made what I wanted, you tell me why” Then we’ll leave it with you for a collection of dimes So carry it off, this piece of culture emulated
I. I am saturated in vivid hues Painted by my culture, A life I didn’t choose, Mere stone formed into a sculpture. These decisions are not mine, A stranger’s language spoken,
Listen, I tell the tale Of my pain Of their pain Do you hear them? The collective despair Shared by every woman who is forced To witness their culture stripped Only to be sold
If you appreciate my culture, As much as you claim, You should know Your disgusting Urban Outfitter’s shirt Desecrates My God’s name. A sacred image Against
Imagine spinning around and around while gripping a carpeted wall. The blurs of faces and occasional glimpse of sky soon all melt together into one.
This is a message to the world To each and every boy and girl No matter your age there’s nothing to fear Young or old, you have to be bold I ain’t saying its fine to play mind games
Fun Things and Happy Things Can you really leave these behind? Even if you can, can you keep loving this place? Can you keep loving yourself? Sad things and frightening things You want to leave those behind.
We still feel the sun’s burn after a long day. We still smile when we see the rains come our way. We still have the haunted eyes at the fire side.
Brown, Black or White What makes us different?
When my father prays, He kneels to the floors, Bows his head to the cross, Clasps his hands together And presses the knuckles of his hands To his cracked lips. What is he praying for?
I am from the piano,
Your sterotypes are almost correct, Though not quite precise Here Let me tell you about Fried Chicken, Because it takes more to get it right. You need salt and pepper Seasoning salt…
Summer rays burn,
In my world that's compromised.No one sees the pain I'm in,They willingly accept the grin I give them.But behind these walls I am safe.Safe from myself and the world of hate.Yet my fortress is cracked.
Listen, sister, for this talk unsettles me. Stop here. Because You are not the sum of things you have made. You are not the sum of others' judgements, opinions - no.
Bright things, young ring- masters of their own fate, future king- pins, holding together the fabric of the state with false silver lining on dark clouds of the economy false hope, blindness - they all lie, trying
“Oh, hey.” “No, really, it’s okay.” “You can stop moving, I’m comfortable.” “Yes, really I’m fine.” The dirt under my fingernails teases my eyes,
You slap me, hit me, and rape me like a hound. Do you think I am your toy? Am I your pet you can treat in any manner you wish? You put me to run around the fields in the snow, the heat, and the thunderstorms.
Sheets- warm and cozy- ocean waves of blue
Neighborhoods don't improve.
Sitting in the classroom my peers all stare "Where are you going?" "How will you get there?" The questions spin and swirl in my head I want to go to the places in the books I've read
There's a key, that could open a lock, that could open a door We wouldn't live feeling hate anymore No time for ignorance Everyone could be free All diversity in peace and harmony
This culture is sand, rubbing us raw. Amputating the imperfect pieces; Dislocation from ourselves. Jumping at the first signs of puberty, Pulling us in slowly and securely.
How much certainty can I? Remembering intelligence that is another. How much pride can I? Remaining humility that rests inside. Am I so right that they're so wrong?
We are aiming to please Ourselves. We are aiming to apease Ourselves. All we really do is tease Ourselves The standards we set for
What is culture? What is distinction?
Who am I?I don't have a full comprehension Yet,But living this long,And becoming this strong,From the hardships I've faced,The sorrows I've embraced,
Hidden Lies The present is cheap, The future looks bleak. An image of solace, Is all the eyes meet. In reality, it is a downfall. The world can be simply defined
When he asked si celebro Christmas, I responded with a yes and a question. "We don't do much no gifts no commercialism not much at all because there is
They tell my people to go back to their country as if our nation's origin didn't come from immigrants.
Come to understand me for how Capable I am Recognize the Uniqueness of my life to yours Work with me and help me Learn
When you're a child You colored outside the lines In green, blue, orange, and yellow You never paid any attention to the crayon you picked up So why is it that now When your voice matters the most
World's Deadliest Black Man Which is deadlier a black man with a loaded gun, Or a black man seeking education providing for his son? Which do we fear the notion of inner city aggression,
A speck of light hits my eyes as the clouds are pushed aside by the sun’s rays. Machinery crushes the Hawaiian way. Cries of our ancestors rain down upon me hitting my face. New technology sets the new pace.
Supervisors, teachers, friends mispronouncing, my name confuses like a rubix cube; Twisting and turning as they are announcing. I’m reluctant to correct not to sound rude. Amika, Umika, Umaka, no.
Bob Dylan in a crowded subway somewhere underneath MacDougal Street—near 3rd avenue; Someone’s gotta feed the culture and the masses their daily bread and butter.
You think you're hot sh*t don't you because your clothes fit you and you got a nice whip riding after school. You think you're hot sh*t don't you because we will never be like you
Teach me the pulsating beat of the city, that raw, man-made harmony, smooth, yet gritty. Surround me with hustle, bustle, chaos, an insanity, those signs that we are dictated by our own humanity.
Ink in the bowl goes on to skin Culture from Africa to Americas Indians Ink that is absorbed into the mind Held in place forever in time
Live, laugh, love, have freedom Walk, run, enjoy the sun Be happy, be sad, be angry, go crazy Cry, smile, hug each other Sing together Dream together Feel each other’s pain together
Culture is a way of life that is based on beliefs, behaviors, morals and values. It's a way of life that has been passed down from one person to the next. Bonds that you share with someone else. It gives us our identity.
When at a door a common thing Is to knock your hand on that door. But is that door meant to be knocked on? Is your hand meant to knock? Or is your hand meant to build that door
Walking down the street Its more than a dream Its the reality that makes my soul want to jump out of me What I see is a frightening sight All different faces but no difference inside
"Momma, you are a vivacious woman with enormous potential." "Son, the corrupt has taken away my innocence." "But you have given us all birth."
It’s kinda funny sometimes When I’m chatting online with my friends Ranting about the immigrant child life Trying to make my case to those who don’t understand Funny because all my messages Come out
His name was Eztli which means blood in Nahuatl, once you name your child You can never go back. People think that the Nahuatl culture is done because the Europeans and Spaniards conquered us
Waiting outside, day in day out, from the morning's beginning, till past the ninth inning. Crowded before work, people listen, read, write and wait... Persistent patience while the rain's delaying.
charm eyed stare down honey I see you shrinking did you know drunk men aren’t always drinking?
What’s the point of exhaling, When no one wants you to inhale We are all a bunch of hypocrites, you know? We say we love, but We stab each other in the back We say we heal, but
The oil full of levity rested upon the sea’s surface Until the lightness began its ascent And burnt red to create the heavens. Then the residual ash thickened
Ya see black brothas always tryin to be trap brothas/or rap brothas Why don’t you wrap brotha Bussin out babies like morning sickness This continuous cycle is more than a sickness
Wisdom is rugged. Time wound back to youth and time spent. The salt of cuts and cracks of skin, Dark with age and learned.
Yes, you're my brother and I understand Your curiosity is innocent; so I'll tell you In a way best fit for me to get my message Across this sea of difference to your understanding
In a distant land, from where I was raised Where I grew up and where I had played. I had never dreamed, that I would find In a different place, a home from inside. So many new faces! The handshake I know.
to put it bluntly..I think im in the deepest whole.Sunk in so far,Trapped for an eternity.Im not going anywhere,And no one's helping.Now of days we make it so easy,
it all began a few years ago, My eyes were opened, now i cant let it go. It's my mom she is the REAL bread winner in the fam its a shame what she has for as a man she works and works and nothing pays off
They've enjoyed our waiting They've indulged in lies They've prolonged discussions They've listened to our cries I've lurked in the shadows too long
(poems go here)Ser Inmigrante Mexicano no es cosa del otro mundo Significa trabajar tres veces más fuerte, dormir con preocupaciones, vivir con sueños,
Fireworks light up the summer skyIn every American town tonight,Blooming like rare flowers inSudden bursts of enthusiasm.They wilt as soon as the have come,Reminding us of our brief hour upon the stage.
Hit the floor running, that's what they say But there's only so far you can run In this bricked up place with these tiled floors filled with sickness, sad- ness, and sterilization. But that's why I'm here:
Have you met Zedd? I want to. Soak up some fame. <LIME LIGHT>
American or Salvadoran.Both serve to define, but to me, they confine.I cannot relate to one or the other,None of them call to me like they do to others.
I want to be remembered. Not just another soul that lingered in this earth, no. I want to be embraced, to be as a model for others, to be mourned for, to be something of my own, to encourage, to be honored.
It used to be a medium Black culture could disseminate Preaching bout the muzzle, the struggle, and the abundant hate Always keepin the guard up in case the police might show up
What is there to do when your whole culture has been uprooted and shunned Identity relies on oral tradition and storytelling because textbooks are too afraid to tell the truth.
The world must wake up To the culture we've created Everything's always debated to the point of broken hearts. We throw the darts at the Holy one, who is right. Morals so far out of sight
Don't let the skin color fool you./I'm not who you think I am-/Nor who I ever pretended to be./My ancestors weren't cowboys./They were the fishermen/and weavers of a history/I never knew./And maybe I'll never know it./I'll never be the matriarch o
Tracing my roots.. Riding down this industrialized road Looking through the tinted glass Watching the land escape my view Tracing my roots.. Fifty-five miles per hour, I watch.
What. Is America? Is it the juxtaposition of pink toned flesh against deep caramel skin? Is it the way his tresses twist and turn whilst her strands lay straight and silky?
A window frames a picture Of beautiful mountains Reaching high Dressed in the green Of a thousand trees. A window frames a picture Of black choking smoke- Raging flames
Black, White, Indian Asian, Hispanic, The color of someones skin is no reason to panic. Why should anyone have to prove their worth, We are all human beings on this planet called earth.
Our heritage From our skin to our inner most features, We have the deepest roots. From the food we eat to the souls who cook it. From the songs we sing, To the music we dance to.
My languages are tree, And dey define me. Cajun is de language dat dances off my tongue; It’s de one dat I’ve known since I was young.
How am I supposed to know? Cultures vary Numerous interpretations What’s considered deviant Or acceptable vary By cultural perspective
(poems go here) My neck strains in ample disposition Your clever attempt to persuade me I reckon you have imagination Like the lord who has not been said in vain My lord is my own; your lord is your own
Am I better off, hundreds of miles out of there? My people need me, need help, need someone. Now that our fates aren’t tied, Shoved onto reservations, we aren’t their problem.
Skipping lines and skipping parts Do you know wherethebegginingstarts Feel the constant beating of your heart. Then all of a sudden. It falls apart
Waging war on a futile society Where we still discover The same things repetitively Reducing our knowledge to none As we take on a lifestyle based upon A culture of solitude Where all one needs is oneself
I am from the shores beyond, whose travels for the Dream took so long I am from heavy New England accents and snow storms strong I am from busy streets to dirt roads From tall pines to naked sidewalks
When I was younger, I read a series called the American Girl Diaries They were books about girls with red hair and freckles Girls with wealthy grandparents they had to dress up to visit