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Jim Crow

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Sometimes, when I see the face of our president on TV,
I can’t stop my thoughts from wandering to Jim Crow.
I think about a white man
hiding behind a white hood and a Confederate flag,
lynching the souls of an entire race
with each strung-up black body.
I hope this man is rolling in his grave.
I hope peace never found its way to his soul.
I hope he is restless.
Not because he is angry at his country,
but because he knows in his heart he is guilty.
He knows his name will eternally stain the place he called home.
He knows the last thing he deserves is sleep.
I hope that the memory of every cross he covered in flames
lights a fire of shame for each dream that was shattered.
I hope his eyes don’t have the strength to close

and all he can see
is the face of our president.
A man with more humanity
than the entire Ku Klux Klan put together, and then some.
A man, that if he met the ghost of this
white-hooded, pathetic excuse for a human being,
would simply reach out his hand and say,
“I hope you can rest in peace.”




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