I Stand My Ground With My Words
Why was the life of a black youth
walking through his “white” neighborhood
snuffed out by an old man’s bullet?
Fear. Racism. Because Zim had a gun.
When did “standing your ground”
mean wielding not words,
but a weapon?
Bad laws. NRA lobby $$.
When will we decide to
engage in conversation and reject
When we resume being human.
We’ve been in collective PTSD
since 9-11, and brown and black folks
have lost ground since then.
Don’t tell me it’s not racism.
Hearts have hardened by war
and lies and this horrid Congress,
divided and divorced from reality.
They have armed guards.
Try this on for size: If you cannot
stand your ground with words, you’re
not mature enough to own a pistol.
Your possessions are not worth a life.
© 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
‘Nuff said. For Poets United’s Poetry Pantry, Imaginary Garden With Real Toads’ Open Link Monday, and dverse Open Mic Night.
Posted by Sharp Little Pencil in POETRY, Violence, Writing Tags: Congress, dverse Open Mic, Fear, Gun Violence, Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, NRA, Poets United, PTSD, Racism, Social Justice, Trayvon, Zimmerman