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Mariah L Wallace Apr 2015
Why am I called "white"?
Why am I an absence of color
To be associated with purity
Flawless innocence
A clean slate

Why am I called "white"
When I have the blood of monsters in my veins
There is nothing immaculate about my heritage
Simply from a lack of pigmentation
My hair is braided with the ******* of masses
My eyes see the broken lives of the oppressed
My ears hear the echoes of homelands invaded
And my hands hold the books with the historic lies enclosed

Why am I called "white"
Compared, as if, to the paper
On which my people's crimes could be written
Repeating so frequently with so many new victims
But we are never called to justice
And the cycle remains unbroken
When we are addressed
We stand up from our thrones, screaming
"Unfair, cruel, why attack me?!
I don't understand, what privilege do you see?!"
We act like the victims, fed by the system
And we eat it up with our metaphoric silver spoons

Why am I called "white"
I've been stained from the years of hatred
Perpetuated by a people who claim guiltlessness
Just because they are a newer generation
What was once called subjugation
Is now appropriation
But both are used to deny culture and rights from nations
But I won't sit by and prolong this delusion that we are any better
Any more beautiful then any other one of God's creations
A monk and warrior
Such contradiction
He sat there
Quietly
Burning
With Such conviction
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thích_Quảng_Đức
Sameer Denzi Nov 2014
I wished you could've met my beloved
Mary-jo-anna while she still lived among us
Imparting on us her wisdom and wondrous ways

Her eyes could see through any secretive soul
Her fragrance would soothe any pensive nerve
She'd make every meal a gastronomical delight
Her embrace would cradle me to a blissful sleep
Her mind could cure the most torturous disease
She'd make every tune a sensuous delight.

Life was wonderful for us indeed
When Mary-jo-anna was still among us
Imparting on us her wisdom and wondrous ways

But she fell foul foul eventually, of our Big Brother
For she showed the people his hypocritical ways
Exasperated! he conspired with the village elders
To drive her away, with lies about her “devious ways”

She's now an exile among the sages, hidden away
Imparting on them her wisdom and wondrous ways
While our village degrades to hatred and hypocrisy
Under the thumb of Big Brother's oppressive ways

The people are awakening to what they have done
And long to have Mary-jo-anna among us again
Free among her people and free from ridicule
To impart on us her wisdom and wondrous ways
Poem dedicated to Pradip Chattopadhyay for his many kind words.
Tyler Cobain Jun 2014
Come on doggies we can play
The Giver is gone now we have our say
Do what we want without a trick
(You are green but so unclean)
Come on doggies we can play

Sit back smoke me free (Freedom! Freedom!)
Sit back smoke me free (Freedom! Freedom!)
Sit back smoke me free (Freedom! Freedom!)
Sit back smoke me free (Freedom! Freedom!)
Sit back smoke me free (Freedom! Freedom!)
Sit back smoke me free (Freedom! Freedom!)
Sit back smoke me free (Freedom! Freedom!)

Come on doggies we can play
The Giver is gone now we have our say
Do what we want without a trick
(You are green but so unclean)
Come on doggies we can play

Sit back smoke me free (Freedom! Freedom!)
Sit back smoke me free (Freedom! Freedom!)
Sit back smoke me free (Freedom! Freedom!)
Sit back smoke me free (Freedom! Freedom!)
Sit back smoke me free (Freedom! Freedom!)
Sit back smoke me free (Freedom! Freedom!)
Sit back smoke me free (Freedom! Freedom!)

Fire the drums straight to my lungs

— The End —