Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
I see the sad and awful color of racism not every other day
But every minutes of the day
I see the serious mental and physical damages
That this cancer has done throughout the ages
And is still doing to our beloved human beings
Others treat our people like they are leftover beans
On a pet's plate. Our people deserve respect
Fairness, justice, acknowledgement
Compassion and better treatment
Our sisters are tired of being left out on the deck
Our siblings are often harassed senselessly, persecuted
Falsely accused and relentlessly prosecuted
At one time, they were hunted by the system
At other time, haunted by an organized medium
Created to destroy, ravage and annihilate
To ridicule, punish and discriminate
I see the color of racism, when the police for no apparent reasons
Stopped, frisked and handcuffed our homeless, elderlies
Or our law abiding citizens, like it was open seasons
To hunt for mule deer or bears, who behave like enemies
Of the civilized society. I see the sick color of racism
When our people are not hired not for being unqualified
But because of their skin color; they're quickly disqualified
Dismissed, fired or terminated. I see the monster of cynicism
Every minutes of the day. The arrogance is unparalleled
Beyond belief. The racists forgot that God only created one race

One human race, one human race.

Their false pride, their ignorance is unleveled
And their audacity, incomparable. I see the colors of racism
Not that I want to search for them, not that I want to find them
Most of the time, I simply cannot evade or escape them
It is not easy to ignore the litanies of bad or negative mannerisms
The bigots easily function like lethal venomous vipers
That **** out the emotions, and that destroy all positive characters
I see the ugly color of racism not every other day
But every minutes of the day.

One human race, one human race.

Copyright © February 24, 2015, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
Maria Feb 22
We’re different, you and me, we’re different
As if we’re made in different worlds indeed,
As if we’re fed on different dew furthermore,
As if we’re covered by different felt on creed.

We’re strange, you and me, we’re strange.
We should go away in all directions, in whole,
Not to be for all, not to touch each other,
To be walled-up behind different walls at all.

We’re crazy, you and me, we’re crazy.
We’ve tried to run away both so often.
But our fate has marked us with a “cancel” sign
And simply decided not let us go, just no one.

We’re different, you and me, we’re different
As if bitter frost and caressing spring in other way.
We have different palettes, you and me, different palettes.
But the canvas is one, one for two of us, anyway.

And we have to paint our further life by the will of fate,
In four hands on one canvas therefore.
You know, I don’t like to paint and I’m not good at it.
I’ll better hold the palettes for you evermore.
Traveler Feb 15
They ascended
Left me
Earth bound
The world
Ended
Yet
I'm still
Around

Flesh
Eating
Monsters
Hunt
Where
I sleep
Still I own
This
Soul
That
You
Seek
...
Traveler 🧳 Tim

Strange mood of creativity
Bardo Jan 20
It was another strange dream
Suddenly I found myself looking out an upstairs window at people arriving below
Then I thought "Wait a minute, where am I ? What house am I in ?
I don't have an upstairs, I live in a bungalow (only a ground floor)"

When I went downstairs there was this big Christmas tree up
I thought to myself "But I...I didn't put up my Christmas tree yet

And there were lots of people there and some familiar faces
And they all seemed to be smiling at me, as if accepting me there
As if there was nothing unusual, as if I belonged there.

It was like a party was going on
And then I seen my brother sitting amongst them all
One of his hands was bandaged
I didn't think it polite to ask him about it
Beside him was another younger relative
I was amazed astounded because this relative he had died a few years earlier, in an accident
Yet here... here he was right here before me

I thought to myself "This must be some kind of... some kind of Parallel
   Universe I'm in where things turned out differently"
It made me wonder was my own world  then just an illusion
It seemed so far away now... so distant

Suddenly I started to get a little afraid, I thought "But I don't know this world...this place
I don't... I don't belong here
How do I get out of here
How do I get back... back to my own world....  

Soon after this I awoke...again back in my own bed...back in my own world.
Trying to capture the strangeness and anxiety of this dream experience.
Antonio Jan 5
in this world, my powers might be limited in some areas ,
but in my manuscript from inside i feel like the egyptian kings when i touch your hand,
would sway with me and let the our minds combine and lose time?
cause even in my wicked ways i always succeed to say goodnight.



racing is the hobby in my heart and my insatiable desires for love and hype
will not let me touch the floor, see the plan and speak the goodnight
yea
!yeH
!meop ym s'tahT
,krow ym s'tahT
.ti elots uoy timda tsael tA
Again with the weird. It's fun that way.
S T I L L
t  a t i  o
o l  s e v
p k   s  e
   i
   n
   g
This ones weird looking, very hard to write. If you read it left to right it looks like an alien language.
FatherCookie Dec 2024
Here’s where seven people
hung themselves;

The first woman too fat
so she fell first, & fast
to the floor.  

The second too thin,
so struggled as the noose
writhed at her core

A rich man was on the
third knot..

The fourth was
disgustingly poor

The fifth & sixth
were a young couple
Victim to love’s
quarrel  

The seventh that
swung was a bizarre one,
the others saw it too…

On his face wasn’t regret
but a quiet reminiscence of
*** & sweat
Jeremy Betts Nov 2024
I've heard people are strange
When you're a stranger
A lesson learned
Only as you grow older

Faces look ugly
When you're alone
My past proves
No one pays no mind to what's shown

They say women seem wicked
When you're unwanted
My truth is I've wasted
All the time allotted

Streets are uneven
When you are down
Seemingly impossible
To find solid ground

The strange
Have faces they hide in the rain
It's strange
Couldn't be bothered to remember my name

Are you strange?
Am I strange?
What is straaaaaange?

©2024
Eyithen Nov 2024
"Loosing weight is weird" I think as I stare at my naked body in the bathroom mirror.
I don't feel how I thought I would. My anticipated joy had turned to relief, a burden I no longer had to bear.
My soul has always been chaotic-always waging wars against itself, so of course this too would bring conflict.
The clothes that clung snug to my skin are now too baggy. Clothes I finally felt confident after years of searching for what worked, what didn't, what was flattering, what wasn't.
And now I'm looking up how to shrink everything
And my ******* aren't as full..
sloping and drooping down without being rounded by fat;
like tissues stuffed in a bra that's just slightly too big.
Not to sound ungrateful, because I love this new body (it's an answer to prayer really; taking away the edge of my insecurities) but I suppose it feels a little foreign.
Like a best friends house you practically grew up in: completely memorized in its familiarity; marked by memories, a home away from home, but still not the place you called "home".
And I spent so long learning how to love this body; accepting her flaws, her imperfections, but never quite convincing myself, only to have to relearn again.
And in some ways that makes me...sad?
I don't have another word for it.
Maybe it's a grieving, for the part of me that was a part of me for so long; a part I scolded and criticized.
And I hate myself at times.
Because I was my own bully-projecting my insecurities with verbal lashings.
All because I had this idea that if I was prettier, skinnier, I would feel more wanted and less alone...that it was the missing piece to my happiness.
And the assumed projections of strangers thoughts bombarded me into thinking there was truth in those hauntings,
because somewhere down the line, at an unknown moment in my subconscious, beauty became abundant.
I should get used to this changing skin, because life and age will always be forcing it to keep up, to adapt; It will continue to expand and sag and wrinkle and crease.
And I hope I can learn to love those foreign bodies too, though not so unfamiliar....
                           just unplaced.
Next page