Dear Mr. System
Listen
to this Commentary!
By Chris Henrickson
Dear Mr. System
Are there blisters on your bars
From teenage tattoos and childhood scars
Squeezing for freedom in the darkness
When you shut off the main switch
Ditch your last stale cup of coffee
In the dead kid dumpster
And recline inside your own tiny mind
Hardwired to ignore signs of life?
How can we turn you off
Turn you down
Turn you out
Like the scrawny 15-year-olds
You donate daily to harems of hatred
County collars tight like ribbons around their necks
When do we collect on your promise to serve and protect us?
You turn court paper cuts into oozing wounds
Prison cells into tombs for wayward youth
Babies into grandpas counting down the days
With broken arthritic fingers
Do you ever linger outside the main gate
And listen to your own breath?
Contemplate your own death high on crystal meth
Chasing your roll-dog into the desert of another day gone bad?
Are you sad? Mad? Wish you had a Dad to blame for your shame?
You're a bad man, Mr. System
Cold -- turning warm hearts to dust
Clenched fists and shank thrusts
Building robots of rage in your own image
In the name of public safety
But still you can't escape me & mine
The bitter wisdom we hold inside
Like unborn babies
Pushing toward the Light.
- Chris Henrickson is the director of Dreamyard L.A., an arts-based gang-intervention program for high-risk youth in L.A. County’s probation system.
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