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Is There Enough Room?

A Poetic Question by

Dion Bourgeois Anthony

Is there enough room in your vision of success for us to live as comfortably as you do, without entire institutions, centuries old, serving the public by putting us on hold, with handcuffs, knees and elbows, excessive bails that you know we can't post, deceptive words that we don't know, and "free lawyers" who don't show at court dates that dictate our fates the most?

It is too much to ask to not have to ask if we may breathe, eat, exercise, or even just sleep in peace? Is your vision so blurry that you can only conceive of a reality in which one race exists for naught but to satisfy the greedy needs of another? Is it not possible for you to not look at this as if we've come thus far by sheer dumb luck, but not by our struggles and blood from the veins and hearts of the bravest women and men to ever dare in the darkest of dark ages? Is it so outrageous to build more classrooms than there are cages? Yet, you're willingly pay more every year to lock us away for years when that same amount of time and money could buy happier tears for scholarly degrees in lieu of measurements for criminal severity.

Is it fear? Did our mother's mothers and our fathers' fathers not go out on a limb and even lose members and limbs for folly in the prepubescence of your ignorance? Has our giants not been spiritually mature in the face your silly and childish egos, those shoulders upon which we now stand, would wobble in the wind of your intolerance. Ask history is she's ever see us not rise like a tide to every devastating occasion? Our emancipation was your so-called favor, now nothing short of full liberation will be your savior. Our own common cause is unwritten yet we all agree and thoroughly believe is one worthy or all sacrifice on call if even and whenever called upon by life.

Or is there not enough room for other flowers to bloom in mother's garden, so you'd rather it be a tomb because your insatiable go presumes that equality is the equipment or your doom? So like a cancer you only live to consume, only to complain, "See? There is not enough room!" 



See all poetry for Dion Anthony #140952