POEM: Social Justice
the freedom isn't gruesome,
the freedom smells like the salty water and sometimes...when you feel like everything is colliding it becomes deadly and sooner...i feel like dieing.
the freedom i once called home is now a puzzled story...
the freedom that soon is growing becomes...un-justice.
the freedom that is now in-justice rules becomes bad rulers and than becomes a dust of people.
the freedom is now violence ... and i am now a deep deep whole of confessions... of vicious ruler or captain...
and now freedom is a pain of bloody love.
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