When the parties are over I’m still here
Still in a country fueled by bigotry and fear
One man in a million angry voices
Nine consecrated seats to determine our choices
When the parades are over I’m still black
Still told hard work and bootstraps are all I lack
But history isn’t rectified with any Juneteenth jubilation
No amount of sophistic celebration
I’m still here, walking on eggshells, stepping over party poppers, and streamers
If I’m pulled over I still have to watch my demeanor
Yessir, and no sir, and dare not move an inch
Worried they’ll gun me down if I just flinch
See the parades may end, but never does the fight
The celebration is not an escape, try as you might
When it’s all over I’m still here to clean up the mess
An activist at heart, a social justice janitor at best
About the Creator
Vagabond Writes
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