A Poem-Pick A Number

I cant hear the tears of Katrina.
Nor do I see the fire of the burned buildings of 9/11
Theres a long line of victims that need me,
Im sorry if these tragedies don’t speak to me.

I don’t see the bodies on top of bodies gassed from the Holocaust.
Nor do I feel the pain of the families that have been lost.
You may never forget, but I will never remember you.
In this world, I wouldn’t blame you if you never remembered me too.

Numb to any kind of pain
Tears don’t come out to play.
I come from a long line of survivors and wall makers.
My mother always told me to let no one in,
Especially not them law makers.

In this world no one hears your pain,
You may cry and scream, but its muffled
By what they can gain.
Will saving you, make their money flow change?
Or will making your soul whole again make their financials stay the same?
See, its all a game.

I cant sympthaize with what you want me to pity you for.
My life line has more pain then you can endure.
When I sigh, its not cause of what hurts me presently.
Its my ancestors crying tears through me spiritually.
They don’t cry cause of what’s happen to them,
Not cause they were hung, shot, burned due to the shade of their skin.
They cry cause their death was in vain,
So much struggle, and look how far we’ve came.

Still dancing still singing,
Making them money.
We’re not beautiful,
Unless we have straight hair and a whole lot of money.
We rather fight each other
Rather for each other.
We’ll kill someone
Who looks like our brother.
For ideas that more than likely were planted in our minds
By a white mother lover
Whose only intention is
To kill us
And gets away with it cause
He’s a cop -undercover.

Slavery isn’t over,
Racism still breathes.
The same land our forefathers found,
Is the same land my people bleed.
Even at home, they’ve turned us against each other.

Fighting over borders that only a map they don’t see can determine,
No longer a home, but a battle ground for
What was, could have been but never will be.
My ancestors sigh because this is what THEY see.
Fought for freedom only for the mental enslavement of their offspring.
Would you die for the future, if you knew it wouldn’t mean a thing?

How free are we if we don’t even live in reality?
How real is this world,
When everything is a game of terminology.
Its not genocide by your definition,
Yet my people die, every time you don’t listen.
Every time you close your eyes, thousands close theirs too.
Only you wake up to a new day,
They don’t wake up to a new sky so blue.
A mother wakes up to a child that’s died in her arms
A child wakes up an orphan,
And still finds the peace within to go to school and live on.
Yet Britney Spears seems like in her mind, the lights don’t come on.
Sean Puffy Combs only votes for a year.
I guess he voted and didn’t die and that was the
End of his political career.

Yet, We’re still here.
We’re still shedding tears.
Hears are broken,
Lives are not living.
American dreams are no longer pretty.
White picket fences seem a lot more dirty.
Whats the point in getting up early tomorrow morning?
We’re still in mourning.

I cant cry for you cause my tears are soaking up the pain that’s already been felt.
I cant fix you, cause there’s a long line of people who really need my help.

All I can say is,
pick a number.