The Family of Time

So we can shoot

But we can’t harm

While all they do is shoot us down?

With their shackles,

Their laws,

Their money

Covering up the corrupted cause?

They keep gluing the seams with lava,

It seeps into the flesh of our country,

And burns.

Gashes erupting through the craters.

So why not instead my brother rises?

Don't be silly.

Luckily I'm not.

A sigh and fit occurs before

They lay it out for me.

Because he not fit for the role,

But give him many decades,

And the lottery,

And a trust fund,

And disrespect

And maybe one day.

Why can’t my sister rise?

Because she is too

Young,

Too girly,

Too smart,

Too independent,

And needs to stay in her lane.

Why can’t my mother rise?

Because she is a women

Who’s job is not in our guidelines.

We need to have someone

Able to speak loud

With the words what are ever

Silent of hope.

Why can’t my father rise?

I push for answers in the tide

That never falls.

Because he is too young.

But he is healthy,

Of age,

With his strong morals

That will never decay.

But where is his money?

In the bank,

But where is his gold?

In his heart,

But where is his heart?

With my mother.

We can’t accept him

For he is not of wealth,

He does not value the right morals,

He does not believe in sacrifice for vein causes.

But how is that bad?

He believes in the greater good.

But the greater good is the people,

Yes, everyone would benefit.

But the great good is the people

Who’s families wipe with dollar bills,

And have cars with drivers,

And name holds value to the bank,

And find joy in the craft of destruction.

Destruction not of the inadequate structure of society-

But of the people

Who won’t stay in their

Little...

Little lane.

A straight path marked with blood

And enforced with a pitched ring

Ending in silence.

I want to try.

No, you can’t.

Go back to your

Barbie dolls.

N O W

I want to speak,

Stop,

Stay in your lane.

Go to Sunday church in a pretty dress,

That’s your job.

But I’m not religious.

But I do heavily believe

That the best part of speaking,

Is not letting others hold you down

And muffle your voice.

The best part is when others rise with you,

Duct tape disintegrating at the touch

Of passion,

Of freedom,

Of hope for a future where we are celebrated,

Not given thicker shackles at each rising year.

Your age is ending,

Time is flowing down the drain.

Rest, rest your eyes that only saw righteousness in your

falsehoods of smiles.

We can pick up the shredded pieces for you,

We can show the future better,

It's our time.

And no matter how many trust funds you have,

Times takes them away,

And gives trust in us that we can erase

The jagged edges for bright eyes,

Smiling inside and out.