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By Naomi Stewart. August 13, 2015 - 10:24 pm
Black like my skin,
I see a pain resurfacing,
One that was settled at the bottom
Among the silt and dirt,
We Americans continually keep putting there
Six feet under.
Only when relevant
Do we exhume the corpse of our history
To create civil unrest
And fight for a false liberty–
Justice for all?
That’s not even possible!
See, that is not an option.
Our definitions of liberty and justice differ amongst us.
I identify as black,
Does this mean I fight for black?
I identify as woman,
Does this mean I fight for women?
I identify as Christian.
The list goes on.
The labels continue.
This is the divide.
It is what keeps liberty and justice for all at the back of the closet.
Entitlement for all would be more accurate.
I see the world and all its sicknesses
Bruises being punched into our history as a race,
And each individual wants to find justice
Because he hurt me, she hurt me, they hurt us–
The us and them,
The me and you,
That is the divide!
The line where liberty and justice for all can’t be possible,
The line where we have to make do;
The line where we can only define for ourselves freedom,
For ourselves equality,
And work from there.
In the silt
In the dirt
This is what I see through my eyes.