Nobody cares about Muslim genocide

hollywood sign

Photo by Paul Deetman on Pexels.com

In China there is a train eating muslims.

Outraged in my sweatshop adidas I am writing a poem.

I am titling it nobody cares about muslim genocides and why?

A version of myself is westernised enough to turn my eyes away,

to look at the millinery of night sky planets too tired to orbit each other.

 

In Xianville there are trains on three stripes

Like me in my adidas taking myself away to prison.

I am calling myself out in the hope my whiteness gets a blood rush.

I am calling myself out that I am too tired to care about the white plague.

I am watching a fly bound to a web and the spider is sick of spinning silk.

 

Nobody cares about Muslim genocide because Hollywood sold them all out.

Hollywood traded muslims as Aladdin and tea-towel madmen,

we bought it in True Lies when Conan saved the day

and those trains are going to leave as we watch,

All that matters is sex and chlorinated chicken.

 

I remember a beach where the white sands blinded me and I never moved.

I chose to swim between two red flags and risked the current

it could have dragged me down to such depths and yet,

I saw something I wanted from the warm waters

It made me feel better until life pulled me back.

 

Nobody cares anymore about muslims or anything uncomfortable,

if they were fashion we would store them away from sight

they would not make the one dollar store because,

because. because, I guess we sold ourselves out.

We sold out the human as we were possessed.

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