Quiteowlet15

Like you care that my feet are bare i've never washed my hair i don't own underwear for food, i use a snare and all my food, i share and i never swear it's not clothes i wear as they always tear As if you'd care. Like you saw that i am truly poor that my lips are sore i've never wanted war i've had no love before my life is one long chore my sister's got to be a whore travelling from door to door to stay alive, what's more As if you were sure. Like you would know if i lost my bow (that means no food, you know) it'd be a shocking blow i'd even eat a crow but snakes are easier, so down to the rushes i'd go perhaps on

Ivory crimson ebony; Her hip is bare Dreams of Crimson; In a flash, Reality provides, Red on white, Blood wells on a; Lily. The silver will save her Consume her pain Promise of salvation; Reason trembles a nymph Weakness tangles a path On shadow, scars flow, on ivory petals; Awaiting and tempted By that envisioned shadow

See that girl to the left? Her strands like the ocean horizon Her ends are split, her hairline thin Her hair will stay like that until cut She gets her hair straight like a caucasian And then tells me of black pride You dissembler, you hypocrite Your hair will be stationary in the wind that carries your words See that girl to the right? Her hair like glazed ceramics Her style is long, her strands are fake Underneath are braids of damage She gets the hair of other races sewn to her And then tells me of black pride You dissembler, you hypocrite You'll have to replace them in time and see what you've done to your hair See that gi

It began in the quietest hours of the night. Granny was snoring up a storm, her bed creaking with each breath and twitch of her bigness. That's always the first thing I remember, thinking back. She always snored in the same way Pappy revved up the engines of his prized Cadillac. Loud, proud, and never ending. I s'pose I should start with what happened before hand. Nothing will make sense if I don't. It don't make no sense anyhow, but the story won't be right if I don't start before everything got bad. So we were in the market, Granny and I. We go every Sunday while my parents and siblings are at praise and worship with most of the rest of t

Beautiful brown skin, Beauty in all it's shades and tints, And I take not from my darlings with ivory skin, We're all human kin, But my brothas and sistas, Men and women, You are my first love, My first passion, For you I go beyond and above, Here since the beginning of time, But they say we came from apes, I doubt that, and know that our blood connection is innate, We've always come in so many colors, Black as fresh oil, brown as good sugar, and tan as the desert sands, These among so many others, We can't be made from any other race, But can be made in any other other place, Replicated, but never duplicated, And continuous

I look around on the subway, listening to people whose words are slurred and have alcohol lingering on their breath. I see a single mother with a crying baby held closely in her arms. What is she thinking? Here eyes are bloodshot, her skin drooping. Her shoulders are hunched, she is broken and haggard. The child hushes and nuzzles deep into her arms, curling its tiny hands together into small, beautiful fists. I look around again; a sleeping man is propped against the side of the wall, his hat covering his eyes. My eyes rest on this man for a few moments. I wonder what haunts his dreams. Does he have anywhere else to go? This is what I wonder

‘Story of a Prostitute’ A graceful woman of a swan A soul of water to dance along Her heart is broken but beauty remains She’s lost among all the pain Selling her body to forget it all She calls herself a courtesan Disowned by family, but loved by foe The church abandoned all her own A night of beauty in diamond dusk Walking down the streets in Prada pumps She waves at men who pass her by Pedestrians stare from the corner of their eye Unspoken words from many glares Tells her she’s useless and that no one cares She yearns a mother with a loving touch A place she’ll adore so much Instead she’s lef

User: I'm Canada, I hope you can remember me! Cleverbot: What is your name? User: Canada.... Cleverbot: Goose land eh? User: Yeah.... That's an odd nick name. ^^;. Cleverbot: Hwivh name is odd? User: A bit. Hey, How are you? Eh! Cleverbot: I'm good, and I'm glad you're finally being honest with yourself. User: What do you mean honest with myself? I'm always honest with myself! Hee... Hee... Cleverbot: That's very kind. User: I guess, Thank you. *blush* So, what do you like to do? Cleverbot: I like to play sports. Do you play any sports? User: I love Hockey and Curling! My brother says I get to serious about it but... He just doesn

(* picture - A "Daru" initiate during his "Mandiwala" initiation in Borroloola; he is wearing, among*) Tens of thousands of Aboriginal children have been taken from their families, lied to, secreted away, stolen and placed as far away as possible, sometimes overseas, to break any links with their own community. They grew up close to the missionaries, ashamed of their aboriginality, without their language or their links to the past. That was the intention We need to acknowledge and accept these awful aspects of our history. The point is, it´s not ancient history we´re talking about, these are lived experiences of people. It´s not something i