The stack is too tall
But the mound
Of boards
Of plush
Of change
Can’t touch
The ground
Without withering
It into
A sickly,
Fading,
Dust.
The stack is too tall
But the mound
Of boards
Of plush
Of change
Can’t touch
The ground
Without withering
It into
A sickly,
Fading,
Dust.
I haven't seen democracy since I was four years old,
coloring with crayons outside the lines while a man on screen was coloring the map with too much red that the blue was overpowered.
Greed overtook them
Only those in power shoot their guns in fear
Of the potential held in the palm of our hands
Delicate and rough fingers intertwined through every color to shoot back.
Bye Good,
I stopped standing the day that everyone else stopped standing for us
I have not put my hand over my heart in over a year because what is there to hide?
I was born here with the blonde hair and blue eyes
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