Labeling each other,
according to the color of our largest organ,
a three millimeter layer of skin,
divides the whole human race into,
meaningless factions of color.
Skin color should never be an adjective;
An adjective that accompanies nouns like
man, woman, child, or violence.
Maybe we should start labeling ourselves
by the color of the blood we bleed - red.
Violence has a color - red
Red blood that drips, drops, and drains
Onto surrounding surfaces when
the integrity of our skin is broken
during an act of violence
I began writing this poem after the Ferguson, MO shooting and the ensuing media blitz.
The poem was tentatively titled , "Violence." However, the word flow wouldn't gel, or emerge, after a dozen lines.
When I encounter this issue while writing a poem, I save the poem and go back to it at a later date.
I had reread the original poem two or three times, but the necessary words continued to refuse to emerge from my brain and flow through my finger tips to complete it.
The recent shootings caused me to go back to my tentatively titled poem, "Violence."
Today, the word flow did indeed emerge from my brain and flow through my finger tips, or gel, for me. After three or four edits, reading the poem aloud twice, and giving it a new title, I deemed this poem to be finished.
according to the color of our largest organ,
a three millimeter layer of skin,
divides the whole human race into,
meaningless factions of color.
Skin color should never be an adjective;
An adjective that accompanies nouns like
man, woman, child, or violence.
Maybe we should start labeling ourselves
by the color of the blood we bleed - red.
Violence has a color - red
Red blood that drips, drops, and drains
Onto surrounding surfaces when
the integrity of our skin is broken
during an act of violence
I began writing this poem after the Ferguson, MO shooting and the ensuing media blitz.
The poem was tentatively titled , "Violence." However, the word flow wouldn't gel, or emerge, after a dozen lines.
When I encounter this issue while writing a poem, I save the poem and go back to it at a later date.
I had reread the original poem two or three times, but the necessary words continued to refuse to emerge from my brain and flow through my finger tips to complete it.
The recent shootings caused me to go back to my tentatively titled poem, "Violence."
Today, the word flow did indeed emerge from my brain and flow through my finger tips, or gel, for me. After three or four edits, reading the poem aloud twice, and giving it a new title, I deemed this poem to be finished.
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