Warning: This work has been rated 16+ for language.
i'm going to a protest tomorrow,
and i tell my friends that if i'm
not at band practice the next day
that they should find the feds that took me.
no one blinked or took a swing
at the cops, and yet they beat him
til he fell, head bleeding,
til the bastards swept through
and left him like a rag. the costumes
of peace only fit them because
that dress (once white, now crimson),
has been taken in, tailored,
to fit fascism's bride.
brutality is a fixture of policemen.
"good cops" are removed like weeds,
whistleblowers succumb to the gut-wrenching
realization that there's no money in equality.
i used to tell myself i would never get a gun,
but there is nothing else i can depend on
to protect me as much as i can. I cannot
stake my safety on bargaining with rats.
if i'm not at band practice on sunday,
find the feds that took me.
A/N: Capitalization in poetry is a stylistic choice. If you feel that my choice is not working, please let me know! Otherwise, trust me, it was intentional, and not a mistake. Thank you.