An Experience With Injustice: poem by a Georgetown University Student

Below is another post by a Georgetown University student, as part of the JustWrite exchange between inmate authors, and student authors, as part of Wendy Jason and Jiva Manske’s Social Justice class at GU. enjoy… Inmate author post coming soon 

I get so mad

Because I don’t even know where to start.

I can’t list all injustices here.

Suddenly, I am no longer sure how I define injustice for myself.

Not just? But what does that mean?

Who decides what is just.

And I feel guilty because I am scared to

think that I have never been a victim of injustice.

I mean this in the sense that I don’t know that my life has ever been compromised by discrimination, racial profiling, poverty, hunger, war, violence…

…The list goes on….

Directly.

Wars have been

war away and v
iolence outside my neighborhood.

I have this terrible fear, guilt,

as I sit here writing this,

that I have cashed in on my white privilege,

that I am prospering at the expense of others.

I am here at Georgetown,

      sometimes I wonder how I got in.

      Is it because I went to great schools, some with far too heavy price tags.

I am waiting for a cab on day on the Upper West Side in Manhattan,

as I wait a black man waits a block before me.

Dressed nicely: Both check.

Yet the driver drove right passed him and stopped for me.

But, why?

I worry that I am not dong enough to dismantle the systems,

      but I worry, because perhaps I subconsciously know, that I have some of Peggy McIntosh’s 1-5 for granted.

I see injustice in the world around me,

      the more I open my eyes, the more my world starts spinning

      and it doesn’t stop.

I feel paralyzed by the brightness of my naivety.

     of knowing.

But what do I do?

     Why am I going out to dinner with friends after this class when other people aren’t eating?

But what should I be doing?

     I don’t know.

Are there viable solutions?

Can we dismantle injustices?

How do you even define injustice?

       I don’t know.

I don’t mean to be pessimistic.

      I just don’t know.

@EmanUrbanDeen with a powerful online submission! Thank You!

Unfortunately we still live in an age where you come from says a lot. At times, even within your own ethnic community it is possible to feel segregated due to status, family, living situation, etc. However, isn’t it better to promote community health by accepting everybody and all no matter what? Many mental instability cases have evolved due to discrimination; it can leave a negative impact.  I hope the good blossoms for our next generation.

Break Her

A flame within
A community that is to blame
Another stigma never to fade
The 70′s to the 21st century
Shit hasn’t changed 
she had to see her brother leave with a bad note 
Faced the edge of New York

Break her; she comes from a bad name
A father that toiled through his youth, unknown 
A mother that had the heart of a stone
It wasn’t her fault

Received discrimination within her Arab Community
Along with the ignorant that depicts her to be a renegade, what record?
The only record she had was being Human with flaws
No gain
Her worth, disregard
Her words, heavy to subdue
She continues to strive, struggle and smile

This is who she is
Living conditions, family history, adds to her character and personality
Accept her or decline her
She is your next door neighbor
She remains solo
Get to know her 

Don’t break her

Where I’m From… another poem by a Georgetown University student

I’m from cheerios,

from bouncy chairs and bibs,

I am from spaghetti all over my face

(Smiling, knowing,

basking in my messiness)

I am from the rocks

on the playground

whose rocks I was not to touch

or else I’d lose the game.

 

I’m from pacifiers and hot wheels

from Nashville and Birmingham

I’m from the so good to see you’s

and the I’ve missed you’s

from my brother’s so low and my dad’s so high laugh

I’m from what do you want to be

you can be everything

and anything you choose

 

I’m from steps in my grandmother’s house

playing school with Doc and Mr. Peanut

from Doc’s mole

to her sincerity

the suspenders my grandfather might wear

 

In my room were prized possessions

I kept close,

Mickey Mouse glasses

to Bugs Bunny overalls

I am from these moments –

filled with hugs, kisses and love –

sewn together by family love that didn’t need words

Where I’m From… another post by Georgetown Student

Where I’m From

I’m from Mom and Dad
From 1199 Bellaire Drive
A place- a home- a family- my heart
From laughter and sheets that hid me from the boogie man
From notebooks dated in August
Preparing for the next summer at camp

I’m from colors in a pattern
On a pretty dress I can’t remember
I’m from the Scarlet Pimpernelle
And Mamma Mia

I’m from six pairs of hands held together
Around the table
When Mom still liked to cook
And then hands still together

At church
Even if it meant Dad yelling at us,
Pointing at the clock
That told us we were late.

I’m from the trampoline
Bounce, bounce
Playing in those leaves
The trampoline’s gone now.
I cried the day I saw the vacant patch of grass,
Lonely without it.

The leaves remain.

Where I’m From.. another poem by a Georgetown student

Where I’m from…
I’m from a place where…
“Your mom is so cool!” Because she smokes weed and knows how to put
people at ease.  أم الشعب.
Where I’m okay being called “The girls.” Because my sister is the most
important person in the world to me.
Where I’m not sure if my mom will have a place to live next month.
Because things have always been that way—uncertain.
Where “If you have it, there’s no reason why you shouldn’t share it.”
Because you never know what will come up.
Where I’m the mom and the big sister. Because nothing would get done otherwise.
Where fate has to exist. Because somehow, everything turns out okay, mostly.
Where school gets in the way of life. Because I know I could be
working and getting paid rather than doing a writing assignment for
nothing.
Where I’m going to study Arabic. Because it’s the only class where I
can concretely measure how much I’ve learned.
Where I’ve worked so, so hard to get here, but no one understands.
Because college and the “good life” was always guarnteed for them.
Where there isn’t a “me” without my family. Because everything I do is for them.
Where I wish money wasn’t so important. Because it is even if you only
want to be okay.
Where I just need to learn to relax. Because so much of my life is
consumed with responsibility.
Where I know you can’t really trust people. Because friends take
advantage, but my sister doesn’t disappoint me.
Where I feel like I’m always the only one struggling. Because
everyone’s life is put together.
Where my heart sinks everytime my mom calls me. Because I know
something’s wrong.
Where I know that if my mom read this, it would kill her. Because she
did her best

The Power of Poetry… Georgetown to Jail…

I witnessed last night incredible reactions to poetry. I was, as many of you know, at my weekly JustWrite installment within an ABQ, correctional facility.  While I was there, I shared work from JustWrite participants at Georgetown University, these students are in a cooperative dialogue and poetry project being run between Wendy Jason and Jiva Manske of Georgetown, and yours truly of Immastar Productions.  The folks I work with were: comforted, inspired, and energized by the words they heard come off the page, courtesy of GU students.  The power of poetry prevailed last night – in a place where most feel forgotten, neglected, and silenced, words rang clear – we are all human, we all come from somewhere, and sometimes where we come from, whether we are behind bars, or in college, it is seemingly nearly the same.  Thank you folks, for keeping an eye on this project.  More poems from GU students will go up today.  When we get the final okay from the facility, poems by inmates will start gracing this web space as well, stay tuned, and be patient – you will truly witness the power of poetry, I promise.

Where I’m From… A Poem by a Georgetown University Student

The poem below was written to the “I am From” prompt given both to Georgetown University Social Justice Students, and my JustWrite Inmate Authors, this poem is by a GU student 

Puff the Magic Dragon lived by the sea.
Sea. Ocean breeze.
California sun in the city
By the Bay.
I’m from four-part harmony

and crossing the divide,
Traversing the coast is routine.
Where I’ve been.

I’m from alphabet stew in

a kitchen that’s not ours.
Kitchen sink. Sink. Sinking

in the mud on a freshly-mowed soccer field.
Rain and fog from the heavens. Heavenly.

I love you all the way

to the stars and back again.
Back, again. Back and forth, it never ends.

B-O-G-G-L-E
S-C-R-A-B-B-L-E
Games. Friendly competition.
Silence/song.
I’m from a book in the night

and tea time on the floor.

Dream. Reach. Aspire.
Crossing the divide.
Transcending the divide?
I’m from the need to remember

and the need to move on.

 

Where I’m From… A poem from a Georgetown University Student

The poem below is written in response to an “I am From” prompt given to both Georgetown University Students and my JustWrite Inmate Authors, this one is by a Georgetown Student  

I am from a home,
from two parents and a sister.
I am from twirling in my dress in the driveway
pink, blue, yellow, green,
smiling ‘til the stars appeared
I am from the trees I tried to climb
under the hot, Texas sun –
cedar and oak,
climbing where I didn’t belong.

I’m from m and m cookies,
from singing in the yard
I’m from a meaningless “thank you Jesus, hallelujah”
which only recently has become real
unstated conflict and frustration.
I’m from a home plagued by cancer and depression
with loss
but with our heads held high.

I’m from my dad’s cowboy boots
now hidden away in a forgotten closet.
From the scars of the past
and a house of forced smiles to greet the day.

Where I’m from is within me,
ever present in my mind, but what shapes me now is new –
it’s hope, it’s love, not shaken by
the hurts from of old.

“the sun is the radiance of his glory,
the exact representation of this nature.”

 

Where I’m From… A poem by a Georgetown University Student

The poem below is in response to the “I am From” prompt, given both to Georgetown University Students as part of a Social Justice class, and my JustWrite Inmate Authors.  The poem below is by a GU student 

I am from the ocean,
a place that I drive by every day.
Beaches with sand.
I am from a place where my toes never get cold.

I am from the right side of the road.
I drive there to get home.
I am from a perfection,
it’s so much a part of who I am
-what I say and what I
want other people to see.

I am from traffic lights
green go
yellow go faster
red go if you can.
Ideology inherently ours
ours alone

I am from a melting pot,
so many different people with dreams
diversity is amazing,
and context is key.

I am from all my experiences
without which I wouldn’t be here,
think here,
or be myself…most of which I can’t recall.
Also, I am from everyone I know
an impression that stays
positions, feelings, incidents, touches
everyone I know.

I am from luck
opportunities and appreciation
fulfillment with the privilege of dreams
beauty
roots of strength, optimism, and assurance.

Where I’m From.. A poem by a Georgetown University Student

The poem below is a response to the “I am From” prompt given to both: Georgetown University Social Justice Students, and JustWrite Inmate Authors, this poem is by a GU student 

 

I’m from between the third and fourth button
on my father’s Magellan silk shirt
his favorite he’d always wear to work
on hot Thursday afternoons.

I am from the long hallways of the dark office
where my mother worked so late I’d fall asleep
under the desk like an abandoned litter of kittens
(please take me home now).

I’m from the willow tree
and countless horse calendars
a wistful little girl.

I’m from the barn dust
and the tangerine arena sand
and concussions
and manure
and adolescent anguish
Isolation.

I’m from age eleven—my first funeral.
She was my best friend, lost to a stray gunshot
that she bit
herself.

A lot happened when I hit twelve; a new chapter
opened, and the fairytale closed.
I was from a fairytale.
My father was the King; he wore a bright crown
when he wasn’t shouting, raising fists, blinded by
agony of migraines so crippling they rendered him
unconscious.

They made him sick.
But I was a princess with a black horse, my best friend.
I am from the Texas sky
a million stars
a southwest sunrise, an enchilada breakfast
Latina flavoring.

I’m from the middle of 1000 photographs of
three girls, the one with her arms wrapped around
her sisters.

I’m from the burned pages of a storybook
because fairytales are very Grimm.
The fathers always die, leaving their little girls.
The forest never stays magic the way it did. The horse died.
I am from.
The.
End.

The beginning
of the real story
of the real world
because there are no fairytales.
they’re for little girls.