my kids are not super predators, they turn capitalist hustlers when you take money out of
put it straight into police and
those for profit prisons have a super revolving door. customer service agents for some multinational corporation, for 20 cents an hour.
new plantations look like a worse hell than being in open air picking
don’t know what goes on in solitary confinement. besides: vents that blow
into a 5 by 10' cell in the summer heat, super loud heavy metal music for 23 hours a day, and rotting food i wouldn’t feed a feral cat.
sounds like the other
guantanamo. i rode by one down south. unsurprised that kids go to school in quickly built (and quickly removable) super shitty trailers, while the new
looks super expensive, super high tech, a “safe” and “secure”,
permanent fixture, fuckin up the landscape.
10,000 newly untrained police officers just
to shoot, without due process, then super protected on administrative leave till it all quiets down. but only in some neighborhoods, and only with
when you decide that welfare “reform”, is more important than a
pleasant place to live, parks to play in, and the privilege of grocery shopping on an ebt card that don’t even have enough on it to get you through a week, like the working poor don’t already work
i’m not so sure that your cheating husband’s foundation (let’s not get into that super humiliation) has done anything to help haitians…why are there tent cities built by people from left over scraps of an earthquake on unstable
where. has. all. the. money. gone?
super facility. more guns, more police, this time
in someone else’s country. a garment factory. where black and brown women make 20 cents an hour to be
super skilled seamstresses, stitching a future
for walmart, targeting,
the next person’s head.
and how come our lives didn’t matter before a whole bunch of folks pushed you to say it? looking with super disdain at a young black woman asking you…
why her people were being abused by
your policies. and how did a super light skinned
get into office over a
black woman with
the people’s choice.
where else is this happening,
your husband spends a lot of time there, probably with the next chic eating soul food and playing his super crappy saxaphone.
i’ve had enough of your:
politics as usual,
i have no desire to see you, in office.
(disclaimer: i’ve been thinking of these things, since long before twitter — a poem a day — or knowing about any of those people who use it, maliciously.)