April 9, 2009
By Anonymous

Abandoned Aerosol Cans litter the side of the Highway
but the Neon messages live on If only for a little While.

Bubble letters engulfing
Ideas and thoughts and work and Art.

Scowls are cast by Businessmen in Beige suits
And the Graffiti is quickly covered by that Monotonous Grey Nobody wants to look at By hispanic men in overalls.
That cement gray
Is so bland, dull, and unimaginative.

Sucking the art from the canvas
Sucking the joy from life
Sucking the freedom of speech from America
Maliciously Killing the message teenagers painstakingly Sacrificed a Friday Night For.

I look at the mess of metallic paints and bubble letters
And curses
And i see something else

I see graffiti as a voice.

It might be illegal
But they are speaking, raising their voices.
Perhaps illegal voices,
but they are speaking
And telling the world
And only a few of Us dare to speak.
Why are they persecuted for speaking?
And Why is their work scribbled over? Why is their voice being scribbled over?

I Admire those who stick up for what they believe
Those People will speak out of line, out of turn
--But They Will Speak
and that is enough.

Women who kept their mouths Nice' n Shut
Never went down in history--
Did they?

Look Again.
Look into the lime green and magenta, Beyond the apparent.
Listen to the voice of the artist
And what they are trying to say.

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