Petulant children are they,
Standing with guilty bloodied hands;
rebellious unrepentant faces
They erase the voices that speak the loudest truth;
Quick with the silencer of shame and shunning
and criminalization of a hard days wages.
Why are we not outraged to rebellion?
Why are we not lifting one another up
from dingy gutters where the “alternative facts”
of community are flayed open in overgrown lots
Replete with corruption of vision
We are being groomed

They are attempting to groom us
to subjugate the souls most feared
because our deepest generational trauma
is a heritage tortured into our provisional roots
reflected into a certain confirmed self-loathing
evident as puddled grief in a widow’s lamentation