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  • Writer's picturePoetic PIXELS

Feast and Famine

This poem is an ode to America and her historical atrocities, psychological trauma and systems that we conform to. It showcases past/present inequities and ill-gotten gains. It speaks to the physical aspects of being in a cage while illustrating our acceptance to living in one mentally. I hope you understand -MR

The table of prosperity and affluence is set on the backs of the oppressed. A culinary feast of privilege, power, and position prepared by hands stretched for that desire. That America may eat the spoils of our burnt bodies and bent souls. And drink every last sip of our dignity and nobleness.

Are we not human?

With no relief, we are fed but scraps of hopelessness and despair. Our belly's ache of an undying hunger. Our parch is quenched only by the bitter juices of disadvantage, prejudice, and loathing.

Will we ever know freedom?

To our eminence, no thought or care will be paid. Rather the encouraged fraudulent, miseducation and suppression of a marvelous culture and ancestry would become the institution.

What fuels your contempt?

This hatred, envy, and scorn is now readily accepted and embraced by the very people it was meant to subjugate. This ignorance of self now fills the minds of her people. Its harvest fills the belly of her ghettos, prisons, and morgues.

Why do you hate me?

Alas, we endure the consequences of this destructive apparatus. One that has structurally disenfranchised and marginalized people, the very lifeblood of her system. Told we are free of physical bondage, we are stricken with a mental yoke that has contaminated our understanding of true liberation.

Are we not people?

But that was long ago. And there is room for all at this table now. One only needs to sit down to eat. So we sit. And look about the table that my father built and the meal his mother prepared and watch our fruits devoured. You become full from the food I prepared while eating from the spoon my brother forged, out of bowls my sister whittled. Cleansed your mouth with cloth our children wove with blistered fingertips.

But aren't we equal?

A faceless pattern has seeped into depths of her heart and darkens her vision. Bigotry has destroyed any hope for human-unity (humanity) and created this self-replicating, unquestioned beast of divergence. I AM STARVING. I AM...

The other America

Who are you?


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