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Black Lives Matter-

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I am writing a poem
and I can’t breathe
I can’t find warmth in the colour of my words
I can’t do it anymore, I am weak
though gripping hard on life with my teeth
I am a flower cast out
because of my blackened self
that no black flower can bloom
when white is the colour of peace
and that is irony
Words are choking me
and I can’t see
I can’t feel anything but my neck
As the pain cuts through sharply
And life is vanishing
the poem is becoming a nightmare
Silently knocking down my last breath.

Being Young and Wild in Poetry-

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