Armed with only your books and your unbelievably strong determination

You walked

Be polite, they tell us,

don’t shout with the truth 

as we steal the future

breath by breath from the youth

We fled here for safety,

they said it was great

You bragged about freedom,

I’m locked in a crate

We were warned

by Orwell, Bradbury, and Atwood

Listening to you justify killing an animal
because the vegan version costs fifty cents more

They wanted me to stay inside their box,

to color inside their lines

There is blood on the street

and it seeps over all five flavors of Skittles

But this is different

This time it’s not about race 

Shouting frantic hyperbole over some non-existent attack on the right to bear arms, while what you truly came for was the right to their womb 

Salt was the price for his captured life,

this Congolese man in slave trader hands,

Ota Benga

Martin looted nothing, Martin burned nothing, Martin attacked no one, reads tone-deaf Karen’s tone-deaf meme