2010 Racism.
Torn apart from limb to limb
On a noble whim I am Rosa Parks again
A curiously bedazzled blend of vigor and wasted vim
and I know
Torn apart from stem to stern
Without a compass, or a plan again
It seems that I will never learn
Despite the blows
Torn apart; tossed head first to the four winds
The martyr who attempts to barter when he can
Knowing the likelihood that he will win
is lost upon a the emperor’s clothes
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