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Alaynah Sep 2018
Being black
Being LGBTQ
Being muslim
Just being me
Or you just being you

We’re all supposed to be on the same team
At least in my head
But some people are close minded
And want to see some of our teammates dead

Here’s something Jermine Hodge, a young black man said
“I’m just like you
a human
red blood
Emotions
a moving figure
Why should you treat me
Like I’m about to pull the trigger?”

Over the centuries blacks have been discriminated
Because of the color of their skin
Causing a whole population of HUMANS to become sadder
But at the end of the day we all bleed the same color
So why should what’s on the outside even matter?

Being black, that automatically means you deal drugs
And all the homies you hangout with, they’re just a bunch of  thugs
Who play with guns and are thieves
Who gets chicks knocked up with their baby and then just leaves

Black people are the ones who walk around with sagging pants
The ones who get bullied by the police over “suspected suspicion” and not remaining a “proper stance”

If they walk around in the wrong neighborhood it gives that scared white woman a good reason to dial
But really it’s just a good opportunity to flash the blue lights and racially profile.


People say brown kids were born to end war between the two races
But people who are racist at heart, won’t stop their cruel ways
just because they see more brown faces

I don’t experience racism?
That’s what they think
But I’ve gotten called the N word ‘cause
My skin isn’t like milk, it’s kinda like a mixed drink

And being gay? Nope “that’s a sin”
God forbid us to love who WE wanted
but little did he know love always wins

If you’re a man in love with a man,
You’re obsessed with fashion and have a high pitched voice
You see? We didn’t ask you we just insisted without giving any other choice.

And you’re a lesbian if you have tattoos, piercings and short hair
And act like you have nothing to lose
If you are in love with the same gender you don’t love god!
Imagine what it’s like to be in his shoes!

You can’t judge someone because of who they identify as or who they love
If it’s not affecting your life, it’s not something you should be concerned of

Now, Muslims.
I guess they’re all terrorists huh?
But I guess we judge an entire nation of people
Based off of a few unfortunate attacks and call out the whole religion. DUH

If you’re wearing a Burqa or Hijab you get judged and looked at because you’re
an assumed terrorist
Yes 9/11 was a tragic day but we can’t blame all Muslims because of it

People will criticize no matter what
But I can tell you what one of society’s errors is
The muslim that sleeps in my house every single night
IS NOT A ******* TERRORIST

White people get looked at as the racists ones
But I can tell you that this stereotype isn’t true
Because my white mom has many brown daughters and sons
And my white grandmother on my dads side has 21 children 18  of them being adopted black kids, she took them all in because they were so beautiful and held her heart captive.

Negrophobia, Xenophobia, Homophobia, and Racism
These are all made up things for glamorizing human criticism.

The point of this poem was to debunk what stereotypes do
Also to remember never let lies and other people’s beliefs stop you from being unapologetically you
Javaria Waseem May 2017
For all those men who think they can understand how it feels to be a girl,
You can’t.

You can’t understand how it feels to open your eyes in the world
With everyone looking down on you and your mother
Because they were expecting a boy and not a girl.
You can’t understand how it feels to be raised up differently than boys
Because boys will be boys
And girls, girls will always have to compromise and sacrifice
For every man to enter their lives.
You can’t understand how it feels to see boys running around, chasing their dreams
While girls are stuck with barbie dolls and fairness creams
And how they are trained to sit and stand and talk and eat
And oh, my God, girls keep your voices down
The society should not even hear you breathe.

You can’t understand how it feels when a girl is growing up
While she is considered as a toy by men around her
For all the ****** frustration
Did I say something wrong? I meant “for all the love and affection”
When he comes up and says
Oh, little one, don’t be scared, I am your uncle
And we are going to play a little game
It’s called you keeping your mouth shut and not calling it a ****.
You can’t understand how it feels to have a pair of eyes on you all the time
Whether you’re in your home or out in the streets.
There are men all around, staring you, tracing your body
As if it is their responsibility to check out every girl entirely
From head to toe, whether she’s in a burqa or a pair of jeans.
You can’t understand how it feels to carry the weight of all the honor
On tiny shoulders, which are supposed to be carrying school bags
Honor of your family, your community, the society
Even protecting the honor of men with fragile masculinity
Wrapping it all in duppatas longer than their *****
While hiding your own identity behind the tags that you’re given.
You don’t know how it feels to live a life designed by men
Making every single move based on someone’s decisions
Like a lion in a circus performing tricks to please an audience.
You can’t understand how it feels to listen to all the filthy jokes they crack
About girls getting better grades or washing dishes or driving in the fast lane
No matter what a girl does, no matter how much she gets successful
At the end of the day, it is all a joke on the dinner table.
“Go bring another gol roti, beghum”
You can’t understand how it feels to carry another life inside your body for nine months
Enduring all the pain and cramps and still doing all the work
While all you hear is how it is a woman’s job to give birth
And oh, to make sure that it is a baby boy
As if a woman has the choice to choose the gender.
You can’t understand how it feels when after all the struggle they tell you it’s a baby girl
Your heart fills up with joy and sinks down in your stomach
When you think about the fate that awaits her.
And you hold her close to your chest, trying your best to protect her
From all the people looking down on you and your daughter
For being a girl.


So, you can’t. You can’t understand how it feels to be a girl.
Because if you did, you would have wished
For it all to be just words.
Kaith Karishma Dec 2017
It’s not a surprise.
It’s terrible but
it’s not a surprise.
Shooting, screaming, scattering, shattering,
it’s not a surprise.
I imagine but don’t understand.
White person mental illness,
illness…
Illness,
it’s called.
He was a poor, lonely, old man whose dog just died,
so he decided
to shoot up a crowd,
and **** and hurt hundreds of people.
Because of his illness.
But just listen.
Listen.
Listen:
you’re calling him ill but he’s really just mad.
There is no kindness in him if he can go **** all those people
and not even blink.
He may have offered you a handkerchief
when you were crying,
but then he goes off and kills,
and kills,
and kills,
and the kindness in him is warped, destroyed -
lost
the second he decides to
shoot,
shoot,
shoot.
Terrorists we fear -
walking down the street with a burqa draped over.
Terrorists we fear -
flying as second class citizens because of our terror.
Terrorists we fear -
speaking in a language we don’t understand.
They’re not the terrorists we should fear.
If the white terrorist is ill, then the US is plagued.
One
after another,
after another
**** us, and we still do nothing.
Nothing.
NOTHING.
We go around the world “fixing” and “helping”,
ruining lives and terrorizing,
because that’s what we are: terrorists.
Terrorists.
Terrorists.
We want to fix the world? We can’t even help ourselves.
We the people are broken.
Who’s gonna fix us?
Marieta Maglas Aug 2013
piercing the veil of her tears

a burqa

the secret of her smile

hidden

the yellow of the sun growing

in her eyes of night

in search of

her black sun

blindness

busted being her dream

dreaming about something busted

her soul

and her watch

for icy dreams

penetrating the eye of mind

a talking blindness

yellowing her secret

growing

in flames

happiness

as a smiling sun

or flaming curves

gestures imitating curve words

flamboyant gestures

folks

flaming talk

piercing the veil of her tears

August 21, 2013
Tawanda Mulalu Feb 2015
He lingered on in the cold,
her voice to his ear;
saving him
from the frostbite of a lonely earth.

All on her own,
all on that phone,
he heard her soft and
held out to reach her
against the bitter cough
of nature’s cold.

His heart his mind it
beats of it,
thinks of it;
them.
And therefore it,
because of it;

he speaks to sleep then.
This one's an oldie.
Tiffany Case Apr 2011
Vibrant antebellum
In the city streets saturates the air
And pulls the attention of children
From the gutters everywhere

Aftermath, aftershock, after the end
Syndrome X inside a plastic cup
Bellicose cries from bleeding sores of media
Shrouded with burqa shadows as a necessary anesthesia

Where is the city and where is the state?
Invisible numbers counted with ink stained thumbs
Delicate piano sound, pale girl fingers
The scent of your fatigue still lingers

I’ve seen many beautiful things
One day, I’ll remember what they are
But for now their faces are stretched like plastic bags
Bound to tear at the bottom and eventually sag
c quirino Dec 2010
and then we were us,
with ten fingers,
equal toes, two kidneys
and our souls,
so blessed and tan
from their sojourn
through eternity.

but you may not recognize "me,"
from underneath my burqa, my crinoline,
my mantilla,
my zoot suit or naval uniform.

my hair shorn-sheep-short,
or be it 10-foot-Marie-Antoinette-tall,
there, still, do I lie,

where once we passed, there again I will be,
and with hushed whispers will my lips part,
as they have for generations,
"how have you been? I missed you."
Nadia Dec 2013
I could tell whoopers and get you in trouble
or take a lover and run off to Europe, Asia or
Africa where you, mom and gold digger can't find me.
Got some nibbles on the net when I placed an ad
seeking someone to take me away from this
miserable existence I call my no fairy tale life.
I could travel incognito and wear a Burqa in a far
off place where you can't come unless you leave
***** at home wearing shorts up to her parts
that are half covered by tight and short teenager
clothes she still wears to keep you from looking
at all the ladies on facebook you still friend and
chat with behind her back. That would make your
gold digging ****** if she knew what you did
when she wasn't logged to facebook. She thinks she
got you tied to her for eternity and for ever more.
Look at me and mom evil *****! He was mom's and
now you think he's yours. I'm glad I'm 18 and can
live where ever I want. I found a way to get out of the
country when I get my passport I ordered in a few
weeks. It will be bye bye dad, *****, and baby
sibling I dad never told me about forever. BUT,
I think I will miss my mother even if she is
dumb and believed her life was a fairy tale
then she found out dad the freaking loser was
cheating.
Ronald Jones Mar 2017
The Muslim woman is perhaps
the most enticing female on the planet
with her hijab (head covering)
her burqa (outer garment enveloping most of her body)
her niqa (total veil)
Such strict apparel floods our mind with curiosity and fantasies about what is so hidden
Hence the covered Muslim woman is  a reenactment of every woman's beauty, power and numinosity
a veiled vision that inscribes itself across our mind
and inescapably through our libido
Fireflies Jun 2018
He touched her
This random stranger
His rough hands slid up her bare thigh
He wandered higher causing his desire to amplify
She gasped and shuddered
His words making her feel more revolted
She pushed and she ran
Picking her burqa up with her hand
They turned and the spoke
All these women who saw everything as a joke
"She deserved it" one said
For what she was wearing proved just that.
A girl gets ***** and the fault often falls on her. " She was dressed like a ****, she deserved it." No she did not that is not how **** works, people need to learn before accusing the victim.
Jonny Angel Aug 2014
Strange spells wafted
through the marketplace,
a mixture of sweat,
manure & spices,
it was too weird.
The shopkeepers seemed edgy,
their black eyes darted
around like water bugs
driving hovercrafts.
A baker sold
outdated batteries
& fixed junk cars.
There were jars
of unknown
foodstuffs
behind the counter.
I wasn't buying ****,
just looking around
without making sounds,
Jesus, it was rough.
Bootleg DVD's
were piled sky high
at many of the shops,
along with the Pop CD's.
A burqa'd woman crouched
in an alleyway.
I'm still not sure
what she was doing,
but it didn't look right.
I swear to God,
I'd have never visited this
bizarre bizaar
if it wasn't for this fight,
the war on terror.
Ziyad Ali Jan 2019
Like anyone else, she dreamed high
But what could she do with herself chained.
She hoped someone, would see he cry
But under the veil who knew she pained
Her scarf's trying to catch the bus, but goody two shoes don't lose her chance, she runs to catch up, and the lady with the burqa that looks like it's trying to get to work before her catches up too.

The wind should be blue, it feels like blue on my skin when it gets in underneath my vest.
I think that the wind is some sort of a test to sort the weak from the strong as it blows me along.
I'm strong, but the longer the wind blows the more I get weak, I try to play hide and seek,
it finds me, I'm like a wind magnet and caught in its dragnet I bowl down the street.

The colour of wind should be blue and when I saw blue I'd stay indoors, comfy and warm
close to you.
evangeline Apr 16
Courage wears a pleated mini skirt  
Red tights and Mary Janes
Gold shadow in the corner of her eye
Courage wears a **** bra
Three shades darker from two weeks worth of sweat
A silken ivory blouse, first two—
No— first three buttons undone
Scrubs
Courage wears overalls
Rolled at the ankles
A nose ring
Butterfly clip and an old locket
Courage wears men’s boxers on a female body
Dr. Marten’s with the chunky soles
Carabiner on the (right) belt loop
And her grandfather’s leather belt
Courage wears gold hoops and a silver watch
White after Labor Day and off-white on her wedding day
A lab coat in the morning, a breast pump at lunch, and a little black dress later tonight
Courage wears a uniform
Hand-me-downs and Goodwill sneakers
Cheap lingerie and slutty stilettos
An orange jumpsuit
Camouflage
Courage wears a binder to church
A burqa to school
Box braids in the office
Courage wears the pants
Wears the shoe when it fits
Wears her heart on her sleeve
Wears pain like a badge of honor
Courage wears a kitten heel
Even when it goes out of style
The Islamisation of the world

Birds began falling from the sky, first a few but then
millions of birds fell dead to the ground one had to take
cover for not being killed by the mass of feathered deaths.
The sky was poisoned by our underarm sprays and other
stuff we used to cover our natural human scent, days of
silence but not for long, insects had no enemy bred fast
and we slithered ankle deep in bird droppings.

Summer,  not a pleasure everyone sat indoors feeding
canary birds while swarms of insects clouded the sun.
a burqa that covered the whole body was the solution,
aftershave lotion and perfumes were forbidden and there
were aroma patrols walked around the neighbourhood  
50 lashes and six months jail for anyone who wore the slightest
a whiff of perfume; and overnight we became Muslims.

— The End —