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freedom
grenades and machine guns
hating what these feet love
the aged and the weak run
behave, and it's indeed done
now im surrounded by a wall of bullets
encompassed by the barb wire, where car tires
and the guards fire never get sullen
swollen limbs, i played with skulls - shit
they were my baseball.
my bat was a leg and as i rounded the base
i pounded the paved street of death
maybe one day we could leave and breath
will return to my chest, a glimmer of hope
still remains in a boat that floats
to the middle of the ocean, expulsion
is the least of MY concerns.
the days of pain are so to be ended
and i don't mean to twist my words
i'd hate for them to be unnerved
but shells are lodged in me, without
any membership. my chest and hip
wrestle when i flex my grip, it's ungodly - we
start the journey, the tide is strong.
the cryings lost in the sea
never to return to me - yet i won't miss it.
there will be no lost sign on posts
the neighbors are unreliable,
i still haven't been able to find my hope
we're headed toward the glory land
where Maury can talk to me and my
story lands on the front of the page
it's night - the stars are vibrant
the one over the homeland - we call it tyrant
i could paint that picture all day.
it makes you wonder, why live? why give
your soul to the souless, but the sun
rises and we begin to focus
the first sign of the coast, being naive
i point and say "Look, there's a boat
to greet us and maybe they will feed us..
mommy i'm hungry, why didn't we bring food?
i hope America is good...am i being rude?
mom...mom..hello...why are you ignoring me?"
she said, 'those aren't explorers, see...
they're here to stop us from living.."
what kind of men prevent the misfed from
the beauty of thinking without fearing
but we made it to the shore, and of course
we were granted asylum, because a political
paper said we could.
but it's all good. i go on to live a life
of strife, social rejection, teasing
bullying, racism, hatred in my own city
where teachers only tolerate, where cops
don't call it rape, alcoholics drape all
up and down the cape, where
death befalls the gays. you call it hate.
i call it freedom, i love you America.
The Elian Gonzalez story
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hammer time.
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