Bead by bead,
Row by row,
To be tossed and thrown.
History class taught a narrow path,
One of false love stories and bloodbaths,
Not knowing who was on the other end of our right jab,
Surely made it easier to reduce your importance to a penny sized grave slab.
A thin layer of neon-luminous identity projects,
As the name brand of the object clearly sets,
The tone of voices that never bothered to question if the other was scared too.
And although a portion of us bow our head in shame,
Many continue to emotionally maim and endlessly draw pain.
Your majority has vanished,
Lands cut down to miniscule amounts,
From a free ranging life your ranks were banished.
How boundless you seemed when by restraints your ankles were not bound to a mere square foot of ground.
All I can do or say is an excerpt from electronic information,
Or brief moments between learning communicative properties of multiplication,
My response to your cry can only ever be a respectful formulation
From the things I was and will be taught of you.
Written from “I PUT A SPELL ON YOU”