But it won't last forever.
Eventually my people and I
will burst from the shackles,
Our minds
a stick of homemade dynamite
ready to burst into flames.
We will burn those ropes,
too tight on our skin,
And heal those bruises.
We won't let you win.
Stand together, row after row
Packaged and pressed in the gallows.
Scars sign my name in black
Ink that never fades.
Tattooed it on my face
That I was a puppet on a string.
Until I shuffle the letters and spell out the words.
Let the Outsiders in.
YOU ARE READING
The Outsiders
PoetryA poetic account of racism in modern day society: shedding light on the situation.
