I had a dream.. Wait no,
I had a vision…that doesn’t sound right.
Poems are hard to start. I mean after all It’s just words…Hey…
Y’know what else is just words
Go back to your country
Five words harmless on their own,
But together it’s a story of hate, pain, and massacres. I was born in America.
I’m a proud mix of colors, and nationality,
But that doesn’t matter to you,
You only see skin.
All I am to you is color.
It’s just words, but was it just words
When my people’s lands were colonized?
Was it just words when our villages were burned
And our women were raped, because you saw us
As play toys, and savages?
Was it just words, when African men, women, and children Were taken from their homes because you wanted free labor.
My people have been Dehumanized
Raped
Degraded
Robbed of our rights before we were born. Immigrant
Injun
Cotton picker
It’s just words, but why do words Become knives?
Slave
Wetback
Savage
It’s just words, words that forever embed themselves Into the minds and bodies of our children.
Words are never just words when they’re laced with Anger and arsenic.
Blood to wine
Cuts to scars
Blood stained towels
Wounds crying like a toddler
It’s just words, but no one sees the lasting wound.
