Email Poem

Your IP Address: 18.191.187.74
Your Email Address:
To Email Address:
Subject
Personal Note:
Poem Title:
Poem
It was back in summer, 2020,
when activists ran ‘round, burning cities,
convinced that they had to destroy their lives
since a thug with similar skin color died.

Amidst the BLM and Antifa
was a young woman known as Jacinta,
only twenty-one, but had a three-year-old;
her passions aroused by what she’d been told.

The police were out there, killing the brothers,
racists were keeping them in the gutter,
what else could she do, but make her voice heard?
She’d make sure oppressors got what they deserved.

And so she marched, protested and looted,
did all of the things the others there did,
alongside her brother, a man named Drew,
when it came to the cause, her brother knew.

The news even put it all on the screen,
proclaiming it a ‘mostly peaceful scene,’
Jacinta just laughed, seeing it all burn,
they’d suffered enough, now it was their turn.

About three weeks in it came to her home,
next door to her was a burger place, white-owned,
the owner refused to put up their sign,
and her people showed up to ‘change his mind.'

But outside the building there stood a man,
he held an AR rifle in his hands,
the crowd then held back, angry at the sight,
and jeered the defender all through the night.

Who was this a—hole, thinking that his place
was worth killing for?  Such utter disgrace!
To value property over neighbors,
by his mere presence their anger was spurred.

“You just like killing black people!”Drew jeered,
“You profit of victims get out of here!”
The man replied, “I sell at a fair cost,
we built this place up, I won’t see it lost.”

“You think this place is worth more than our lives?”
Said him, “With no job, how would I survive?
You say it’s ‘property,’ that’s what you feel,
but burn this and how will I afford meals?”

Roared Drew, “Its racist that you own this spot!
We only want black-owned business on this lot!”
“Nobody has stopped you,”the man replied.
“You have that same right, don’t believe the lies!”

Drew turned to the crowd, “Don’t let this honky
poison our children with his salt and grease!
If we’re ever gonna have lasting change
then we have to make these white boys feel pain!”

Out flew a Molotov, smashing the glass,
two others flew in, and the flames spread fast,
the crowd then did scatter, not charging his gun,
and Jacinta laughed, reveled in the fun.

But that joy soon vanished as the flames spread,
the old building went up, consumed in red,
and raced to the building waiting next door,
where her son awaited, not even four…

CONTINUES IN PART II.
CAPTCHA Preview
Type the characters you see in the picture
Required