1) To Langston Hughes and all of my elder siblings watching from beyond.
America does not sing, rather it screams, for we of the discriminated creed make it so.
Voices of the scarred, bruised, and tattered scream death gripping, tear jerking,
and attention seeking cries of injustice, inequity, cruelty, and death.
5) They slaughter us as if we are feral and rabies ridden animals who have the gull to live as if we were anything other than that.
Then we are used; our scarlet and crimson red blood soaking the
grating pavement is used as fuel for their frivolous strives to gain pain power.
Our body and mind defiled by their judging, begrudging, and scorning gazes knowing
nothing of our beauty.
To you, my older siblings, we are animals; nay we are plums.
Pieces of fruit dangling from the minuscule branches they give us out of their “benevolent graces”, our body is the skin, our blood the juices, and our minds rather souls the seeds
that they discard without second whims.
15) They are the farmers who wish to harvest us so that their aching bellies, devoid of all
remorse, may be filled with the succulent juices and the smooth skin. However, when we
defy their natural order and turn rotten they want nothing to do with us, for
when this happens our seeds fall and grow into even stronger, higher, and richer plum
trees from which they cannot pick the fruits of.
To all of my siblings coming from both the beyond and from this world, their America sings, but instead of songs of work and growth it sings the songs of harvest. While our America screams for change and growth. Only the louder voice shall triumph.