Justified Injustice // Poetry Series Part 4

A Series of Haiku On Living

Where is the beauty

In believing we should die?

This is not beauty.

Where is the beauty

In wanting to stay in bed

For days, weeks on end?

It’s not beautiful.

Not brave, romantic, or cute

To wish away life.

There should be light in

Everything around us.

Not dark, emptiness.

Where flowers can grow,

There will always be a light.

There is light in you.

See this light, and you

Too, can live the way you wish.

No one can stop you.

You may feel as though,

This life is weighed on your hands.

That you cannot breathe.

You must know. Know this;

There is nothing in your way.

Do not stop yourself

From living, loving.

From experiencing life.

From knowing yourself.

See the light around

You, and feel the warmth it gives.

You are not alone.

Justified Injustice // Poetry Series Part 3

Ode To Leelah

She. She. She

Was so beautiful.

Trapped, a soldier, a martyr.

She was strong. She was brave.

She. She. She

Was encaged, locked into this world

Misunderstood and forgotten.

Suffered in silence.

Brushed aside.

She is not he.

Lost in a world,

Where instinct

And inside mean nothing.

She fought too long, too hard

Undeserved pain, unrecognised.

She. She. She

Hurt by those

Supposed to love unconditionally,

She is not a beautiful story,

But she was beautiful.

She is not a tragic hero,

But a tragedy nonetheless.

She. She.


Justified Injustice // Poetry Series

I Come From

I come from an easy life,

Lack of hardship,

Lack of labour,

Food waiting on the table,

Teachers waiting in the classroom.

I come from not having to fight,

For my freedom, for my rights.

But I come from “boys will be boys”

And “don’t go out alone”

I come from keys poised between fingers.

I come from fear.

I come from believing

I must be perfect, complacent

Never outspoken, never bossy,

“You run like a girl!”

And “don’t be a p*ssy!”

I come from a world

Where my gender dictates

What I can do,

And more importantly what I cannot.

Be the princess

You cannot save yourself.

That’s for the prince.

Unfunny jokes,

Where I belong in the kitchen

And “you can’t wear that”

Why should I not do

What my brothers can?

Why must I always be the lady

To forget how to look after myself?

I come from anger.

I come from overprotection.

I come from a man’s world.

I come from fear, fear, fear.

Justified Injustice // Poetry Series

Black Lives Matter – Ballad

High in the summer season,

A man is found shot dead,

In the American town of Ferguson,

There is violence and trouble ahead.

A man named Michael Brown,

Always seen as beneath,

And another, wrongly righted,

They cannot breathe.


Nothing could prepare them,

For acts so cruel and unjust,

By those supposed to help them,

The loss of all their trust.

Family and friends conjoin,

Their sorrow laid bare underneath,

The fear the white man will return,

Don’t forget; they cannot breathe.


Soon enough another,

Is taken, like the rest,

A son, father, a brother,

Unmerciful hands around his neck.

A man named Eric Garner,

Just like you and me,

Was killed because of his skin colour,

Saying “I can’t breathe

Now riots are breaking,

The fight for justice goes on,

These men and women do not deserve to die,

They have been fighting far too long.

“Black Lives Matter”

The hashtags scream from every tweet,

We must fight alongside them,

Because they cannot breathe.

The Bridge // Flash Fiction

Below, at a thousand miles an hour, or so it seems at least, they soar past. Black, silver, blue, red, another silver, another red.

One, two, three, a million more, smaller than your hand from where you stand. Like the moon compared to a thumbnail, you are a giant up here.

Cold, white railings that ominously rattle in the wind. The same wind that whispers through the rusted bars, whistling fear of heights and paranoia as you cling to the metal that shrinks your hands to frozen, immobile props. The same metal that could deceive you at any point. Age is never but a number. You decide not to trust the aged, creaking bridge.

Fear of heights is not what stops, but fear that the height will fall away. Exhilarated, a rush of adrenaline and fear comes over you as you realise how easy – so easy – it could be.

You cling to the bars as a lifeline as you force your resisting feet, step by step, moment by moment, to the other side.

And finally, thankfully, your feet touch solid ground.

. . .

That was then.

This time, the rattling of the bars and the clanging noise of two feet shaking the foundations of the so-called sound structure is louder; so loud.

It’s unnerving. It’s wrong.

For the first time you have seen, there are no cars, no lights, nothing in the distance.

Below your feet, the terrifying yet comforting buzz of automobiles rushing, rushing, rushing, is no more.

There is not a sign of life for miles in diameter, even from your vantage point. Down to the coast or up to the hills on the left, there is nothing.

There is nothing human anymore.