by Angelica Whitehorne
The sad leaked like ripe fruit from the core of our world
The men in blue pepper sprayed a nine year old girl
I don’t think the politicians, protected in suits, will save us
I don’t think these issues are something they’d care to discuss
We woke up to close the blinds against a wildfire world
The men in blue pepper sprayed a nine year old girl
I don’t believe life ends at Black or starts at conception
I don’t believe in law enforcement’s redemption
We live in the same country but different worlds
The men in blue pepper sprayed a nine year old girl
cops / defenders / bastards they’ll come for you too,
hit you hard in the streets if you step on their shoes
I sent a letter to the P.O. box of our homeless world
The men in blue pepper sprayed a nine year old girl
We’ve been taught rights are something we can negotiate
We’ve seen first hand our systems were contrived in hate
We stand outside and wave goodbye to a disappearing world
The men in blue pepper sprayed a nine year old girl
I wonder if there is a point where we’re past being saved
If this marks a civilization too utterly depraved
I want so bad to rescue this reckless, refuge world
I want so bad to cover the eyes of the nine year old girl
Open your own eyes and see where the real danger compiles
in our actions, in our violence, not in the fearful, backtalk of a child.
What if we gather and release this knotted up, wounded world
and teach the next generation to protect all nine year old girls?
Am I too hopeful or can we confront it, our long past of disparity?
Am I too hopeful or can we grow them, our seeds of peaceful solidarity?
Angelica Whitehorne is a New York artist who writes poems, pieces of fiction, and stanza-formatted rants about the world we’re living in. She’s not creative enough to write about some other world, so this one is all she’s got. She has published or forthcoming work in The Laurel Review, The Cardiff Review, North Dakota Quarterly, Mantis, Ruminate, and Hooligan Magazine among others.
