Bomb

all governments
                           are corrupted in some way,
                        exploiting the delivery of storks
                     that baby-boomers like to think are
                precious gifts, but we are dropped bombs
             to make this s***-hole new, paint it blue, not
             for boys,  but for  our  united sorrow,  yet we
             will  still not  give this  stolen land that  toiled
             name like you do. we will paint it pink, not for
              girls,  but for the faded  fire,  bright and not
                 upon  a  spectrum,  because  we will  not
                     put stickers on specks  in an infinite
                       cycle,  because  we are just dots
                            of destined waste, longing
                                    to   get   along
Copyright © | Year Posted 2017

Poem

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Book: Diverse Voices: The Poetry of Human Rights and the Pursuit of Peace