Pull The Trigger
Minutes into hours, hours into days,
Time ticks by, oppression wears the mask of altruism,
Dipping a brush into the blood of the innocent,
Painting a face of snow over the palm-greasing malfeasance your values are rooted within,
Strung together by the chains carved from the bones of our children,
We laugh in the face of grief while we whisper condolences in foreign tongue,
We are built on the massacre of men both metaphorically and etched into our skin like verbatim,
We are connected by the ignorance of our pale skin,
I am screaming at the sky asking when we became the killers,
Angry men throwing knives at the cross,
The babies born into a society where we are all being held at gunpoint,
Save only those who share your face,
The rule is simple, if you break it you’re no longer welcome here,
It’s easy, of course,
Once you’ve bleached the dye out of your garments,
Your body and face, uniform like the rest,
If we refuse, I can hear you click off the safety and press the barrel to my back,
In a place we are guaranteed life liberty and justice for all people,
It certainly feels as if we’ve been victimized since we took our first breath,
We didn’t ask for this,
To be unlike the rest,
We didn’t ask to care,
But we ask you now,
Why don’t you?,
If you are going to shoot me then you might as well pull the trigger,
I don’t know if this life is any better,
For all I do is watch you murder my companions, known and not,
You are a sick, twisted freak,
I am sick and tired of living and wondering if I’m going to fall next to the tyranny,
If one morning I will wake up,
Get dressed,
Go to the place I am meant to learn,
And never return back to my home,
Or come home with the blood of my classmates stained inside my mind,
Why don’t you care?,
They are killing your people,
But these people are not yours,
Tell me now, when are you going to take the scissor to your eyes and snip, snip them open,
And see the way the red stains your palms,
When are we going to quit glorifying your despotism?,
Silence us with your cleansing,
A cover up for killing,
Pocketing the lives of anyone who doesn’t fall to their feet and kiss your stupid boots,
The same soles you step upon people with,
The same souls in the pocket of false freedom,
I cry out,
Make it stop,
We are broken,
We are tired,
We are sick to our stomachs at the pain you get away with causing,
Again I cry,
Make it stop,
And I am screaming at the sky,
Make.
It.
Stop.
And I whisper into to the emptiness,
Make.
Him.
Stop.
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