Is It Poetry
Child Emigrant's Over Whelm U.S.
Days lingered into months year after year
without hope without end
did others like I spend as a child.
Very young was I barely a man.
Lost inside of Florida's brutal southern
dark cold Jails and Prisons.
Sold out by the state our politions still profit.
Where it was normal to be Raped and beaten.
Crammed into cells not unlike them.
Waiting to be booked Green baloney sandwiches.
Unable to articulate
the real need to draw right winged attention
to the abuse we suffered by the State.
Wasting tens of thousands of children.
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