I am too sensitive for this world
I awoke after the mudslide
with wet soil caught in my throat
choking up roots
buried beneath rubble in the debris of 9/11
felt 3rd degree burns on my skin
dancing flames with three little girls
praying in church hues
skin colored of charcoal
I try to sleep soundly
but wake quaking wet
and heaving salt water
stinging my nose after the tidal rose
above sea level shaking hands with the horizon
I felt your sons cold hand on my shoulder
after he told her he was shot 33 times
mistaken
throwing black hands to heaven
white skin on brown land
and we never owned this
we've mowed it down
swastiskas burned into pupils
taught to bow to superior gods
man made
we're burning a Bush in the white house
chopping down trees and calling it christmas
parting seas with huge machines
dredging up pasts long forgotten
giving mother nature hydro colon treatments
because we cant stand to see dirt anymore
but our hands our not clean of this
no matter the revolution we are fighting
we are no where near perftect
whether poet or president
we speak louder in our silences
than in the words we spit into microphones
but we all have the power to make change
we just need to give out more than necessary
in order to get it
I can feel the breeze off the bayou
blowing across brazen skin
7 bullet holes in backs
trying to walk to higher land
we were marching toward holy land
mowed down by hummers sucking our mothers veins dry