Issue No. 4

A note from our editor:

This issue of undr_scr really grew in strength in terms of the submissions we received. The variety is what has grown the most. Be it within the poetry submissions or the slow expansions the journal has made to other art mediums; I can see the progress that is being made and I remain excited about the potential of a project like this. The undr_scr team has been doing an amazing job putting in the work to propel this journal forward to help it to reach its full potential. I couldn’t be happier to work with such an amazing group of people.

— Kennedie King, undr_scr review Vice President

Kennedie King

issue no. 4 featured artists

Featured Youth Artist: Hawa Rahman

hawa rahman is a 17 year old poet who will attend the College for Creative Studies in the Fall of 2016 as a freshman, double majoring in Product Design and Art Education. She adores any kind of art, and with the art of poetry, she attempts to paint into the untouched breeches and crevices of the painting we all think we see. She is a teenage Muslim Asian-American woman with a steaming pen, ready to ink brains with awareness.

Featured Adult Artist: Grover Easterling

grover d easterling is a poet and activist currently living in the city of Detroit.  Enjoying the arts from a young age, Grover joined poetry groups to further his art as a Black youth poet with important words to share in America. A part of the 2012 Louder Than A Bomb Michigan team and a member of the collective ‘Witness’, Grover continues to build on his writing.  Also a lover of music and human rights, Easterling seeks to bridge the gap between artist and activist.


ACTIVATION/CONTENT WARNING: Featured poems contain language and images that depict instances of violence and trauma.


Detroit School of Arts poetry

An Erasure Poem
By Linise Washington
After Blues in the Water by Tylonn Sawyer


It all began three years ago to the day
And a year after the government took our rights away

Tore my boys flesh apart
I knew it was gonna start

I saw many die
I saw many women cry

Saw many mothers try to protect their only children from the threat of the night
But not one soul was ready

When the beast came to strike
Praying to the sky ‘cause

The truth they all took
And now they ask god what to do

I refuse to bare the sign so now
I’m a wanted man

Food too hard to find
Hunger too hard to stand

All across the land
Politics convince the whole world

It’s for the best

By La’Nice Cole

I see, I’m checking
I see through you projecting
all your heavy rejection
got you deep in deception
but i ain’t even sweating

you see me, you hate me
you look around and try to make me
but there’s no way you can relate me to everything that ain’t me

news be talking crazy
got yo vision all hazy
now your mind is in a maze.
you see, Authority is shady
It’s crazy how they hunt us down
But if i fight my own
They stand there and look around
and crack a smile

Drake said “trigga fingers turns into twitter fingers”
he lying
Someone says something online and now you’re feeling fried
and fired up and load yo nine up
bout to squad and brawl you lost it all
so you put it to hit head and say repent
cus you about to meet God bruh. And it’s done
you feeling good, you think you won
but ain’t no money in the world to pay for what you done

I’m not what i see around me
or what i live in
I’m just a talented kid trying to make my vision into a living

they think they can just say what they say
about black and make me think it’s true

but that’s just an original stereo typical visual that spread like the flu

I’m a black woman and i ain’t gon betray it
and i appreciate it when you hate it
be a hater
the more you do it elevates me and makes me greater
after that i’ll see you later
when I’m getting paper
and influencing others
to be world changer

The Attack On Black Women
By Kenyanna Williams


The attack on black women is a black man who
‘Only talks to mixed chicks’.
The attack on black women is being called a
‘Broke chick if you wear you hair natural’.
The attack on black women is
Wearing your hair natural to school
To hear someone ask if you lost your comb.
The attack on black women is the same person
Telling boys with tapered birds nests on their head
That the style is ‘crispy’.
The attack on black women is giving Trayvon Martin
A moment of silence every year but
No one knows who Renisha McBride is.
The attack on black women is being called
Loud and ratchet when 200 years ago we
Would have been killed just for whispering.
The attack on black women is black men
Saying we don’t have it as hard as them because
We don’t have to worry about police brutality,
But nobody told that to
Sandra Bland, Joyce Curnell, Ralkina Jones, Raynette Turner Kindra Chapman-
The attack on black women is people only knowing one of them.
The attack on black women is black men saying
They can’t date us because we always think
We are being lied to, even though I still
Have the bag packed from when my dad
Said he was going to come and get me for the weekend
When I was three.
The attack on black women is people
Shaking their heads at a pregnant teenager
When she’s just hoping she will have a boy
So a black male will finally love her
As much as she loves him.
The attack on black women is a white lady
Staying at home to take care of the kids being called
A stay at home mom,
But when a black woman does it,
She is called a statistic.
The attack on black women is Stacey Dash
Being ridiculed for saying there should be
No Black History Month, but
Everything was fine when Morgan Freeman
Said the same thing.
The attack on black women is black men
Acting like we are not all one race, running,
And when we finally cross the finish line of equality,
Black men will be holding the trophy
While the women just get to admire it.
The attack on black women is us thinking
That’s enough.

Songs when we walk
By Le’Andra Gregory

We all have a special song when we walk
It’s all about the glide in our feet that makes the song-
the trips and stumbles that makes our song seem scratched.
Sometimes you’ll hear a drummer drumming sweetly,

Or a pianist missing every key,
especially the
black ones

There is a song you hear when a black man walks-
it’s the sound you hear in horror films

the one where you know something’s about to go down

You could be minding your business
playing with the toy gun
your mother gave you on Christmas then
pop pop!
A song that took years of mastering- ended.

We all have a special song when we walk.

There is song you hear when a black girl walks,
running faster than the sweat
that evaporates from her skin
feet lifting off the ground quickly like 1,2,3 1,2,3 1,2,3.

Trying her hardest not to miss a beat
so that the lust filled stranger behind her can’t catch her rhythm.

If we were brave enough to listen closely,
we probably would recognize we are all the same song,
just rearranging the lyrics so that they match the beat.

we all are afraid something,
cause if we were to stand together
our song could better than ever

together we would create the beat
to we shall overcome
Police Brutality
the lyrics sung would question
why are we targets?
Cause it seems the only sound
our special song makes is the sound of empty shells hitting the ground.

Shout Out to DPS
by Jabree Shelby


Shout out to DPS.
Shout out to the children for taking a stand
for not taking no for an answer.

Shout out to any means necessary.
Shout out to making me realize
the situation we are all in
for trying to make us better.

Shout out to the class of 2016
for the graduates understanding
that the younger generations need an education

Shout out to being treated equal–
as one

Citywide Poets is InsideOut’s award-winning after-school program for high school youth interested in spoken word performance and publication. Groups meet with local professional poets and engage in workshops that challenge students to discover new life in their writing and build relationships with Detroit’s art community. The poems in this section are from the program’s 2015/16 annual anthology – hand chosen by our editors to represent the “Best of the Anthology” for this year.

CityWide Poets: Best of Anthology

She is the best thing ­- Abdoulaye Doumbouya

She is the best thing ­
– Abdoulaye Doumbouya

She is the best thing that ever happen to me, at least for now,
Reason being that she is my Cleopatra,
And every time I see her, I want to build her a pyramid,
She is all that is on my mind for now,
She my teacher and I’m her student,
I just want to study her biology,
She’s equivalent to my world,
My geography,
So her being the best I ever had is my most accurate philosophy,
The person I can look to for a phone call,
I know she’ll be there pick me up when I fall,
Simplest way to put it is,
She gives me that good feeling y’all,
Love her more than Ms. Mohagany loves poems,
Love how every time I see her its raging hormones,
Sadly, nothing in life promised,
Who’s to say she won’t disappear like a childhood fear,
Bet if she leaves then I’ll be at a bar drinking beers,
Letting out what seems to be endless tears,
But I’ll eventually get over it like a hurdle,
Being without her though, will make my days slow up like a turtle.

Corruption - Abdoulaye Doumbouya

Corruption – Abdoulaye Doumbouya

I want to enjoy life,
Enjoy it before my days end,
Before it gets caught off by a knife,
Finish up in America first, before I return to the motherland,
Enjoy it before my days end,
I want to expose the evils of the world,
Finish up in america first, before I return to the motherland,
I’m tired of America and how it is so twirled,
I want to expose the evils of the world,
Sad the government is the real cause of death,
I’m tired of America and how it is so twirled,
All these tragedies happening like the tale of Macbeth,
Sad how the government is the real cause of death,
America is a super muscle,
All these tragedies happening like the tale of Macbeth,
They doing whatever it takes to bleed a hustle.

Dear Peace Of Mind - Denzel J.

Dear Peace Of Mind – Denzel J.

I suppose I should say sorry. But I doubt it would matter much. Not to you, nor to me. You,
because it wouldn’t be sincere. And me, cause we’d return to this soon. I suppose people would
ask why. I often ask myself that. Why do I so often get caught up in the affairs of others like a fly
in a web. Waiting to be feasted upon by the sleepless nights, drama, and nostalgic thoughts. Why
are we here again? Why do I never learn? I suppose I couldn’t answer any of those truthfully. Not
if I wanted to save you. Not if I wanted to save myself. How did these things happen? Because
tear soaked bridges light up and fall down as effortless as heat soaked forests light up and fall in
the Californian summer. And yet, here I am again. Bleeding you dry as we pour out into the
sand, rebuilding those same bridges. Shaky foundations and slippery cables. Till I’m no longer
haunted by these regrets, doubts, thoughts, and fears. No longer haunted by these “what ifs?” and
“why nots?” Someday, I hope you’ll forgive me. Even if I don’t forgive myself. Even if they don’t
forgive me. But there I am lying again. I hope you don’t. Cause be all my sins remembered…


Rainstorms ­ - Denzel J.

Rainstorms​­ – Denzel J.

Friedrich Nietzsche once said “You need chaos in your soul to give birth to a dancing star.”

As the wind howled and the rain drummed a beat
A dying star collapsed and imploded
They both screamed at each other, “I hate you! I hate you!”
Turning their backs on each other and stalking out into the torrential rain as lightning danced
across a cloud covered ballroom to a thunderous tune.

He remembers “Dude go for it, she’s totally into you.” “What?” “Yea, man, go! What do you got
to lose?” “How about my pride as a human being and the prospect of eternal humiliation from
you guys?” “Hmm”

And with that, they pushed him, he stumbled into her knocking her books from her hands.
“Oh sorry” They mumbled as they hurriedly picked up the scattered textbooks. Just as they both
reach to grab the last one, their fingertips touched and a spark jumped over the miniscule gap.
“Sorry, I…” He breathed. The words died on his lips as he looked at her. She was more beautiful
up close.

“Hi,” he said. “Hi” she answered.

She remembered.
The air misted as rain fell steadily
Drenching them head to toe.
“I always liked storms.” He mused. She smiled at him as they danced. They had always loved
doing this. “They can sweep you away, that’s why they’re named after people.”

Teardrops slid steadily down their faces, mixing in with the incessant rain. In tune with their
terror-­stricken hearts as it fought valiantly the losing war against their chaotic souls and
unreasonable minds. “Go back! Go back!” “No! I refuse!” They wailed into the storm. A shrill
passionate keening of rue and despair.

They remembered

He was her entropy and kept her life unpredictable and varied.
She was his discord that kept him humble and at peace.
Like yin and yang. Like the moon and sun. They were inseparable. They were their own
universe. Two sides of the same coin. Opposite attracted. But the similarities kept them there.
They were meant for each other right?

Guilt tripped by their shared memories, their hearts won out. Unreasonable Mind and Chaotic
Soul and Terrified Heart. Trudging through the drizzle and stepping over rubble both real and

“You said you like storms but…”
She says gesturing at the war-­torn room ravished by the hurricane of emotion
The drizzling silence a shattering calm to the cacophonous dissonance of a few minutes past.
“What if you can handle only a little rain and I’m a downpour?”

He draws her close, feeling her sigh gently with spent feeling
Looking her in the eye as a slight shiver creeps up her frail, emotion­-wrecked body as he replies

“Then….I’ll drown.”

Private school - Alisha Reeves

Private school – Alisha Reeves

I assume because I am a wise child.
So wise but blind to the rising of my reality as a person.
I was only in kindergarten
So I still wasn’t that wise.
She’d stare like I had watermelon in my hand with a gun on my waist.
I would look her way and she wouldn’t say a word
But her eyes would talk a storm. I didn’t know any better,
Back then I only seen a little girl with nice hair, tiny eyes, and a bitter sweet look on her face.
But I was only in kindergarten,
I didn’t know any better.
I would notice a huge difference between us two when she’d look at me,
After a while, I was able to feel her eyes on me.
Her stale face made my heart suffer from the racing she’d cause when she’d stare.
But I was only in kindergarten,
I didn’t know any better.
If I knew, I’d probably be able to see the cun pow chicken and specials menu and Jackie Chan
fighting styles when she’d come by.
I wasn’t that wise though,
And even then, I’d I knew.. still, I’d never look at her that way.
I’d still see the nice hair, tiny eyes, and bittersweet look on her face.
Maybe because I wasn’t that wise,
Maybe because Im a better person.
Maybe because I was just in kindergarten & I still didn’t know any better.
I felt most black when I was I’m kindergarten and still didn’t know any better.

Daily Colors - Erin Andrews

Daily Colors – Erin Andrews

This is the first thing I see
I stretch in bed ready to start my day
The color of the sky as the morning breeze greets me
I see the sun as I drive to school
There is a mix of colors throughout my day
Grey from the confusing math that makes me sad
Red from the teacher that makes me mad
Green from the lunch that is barely edible
Black spots appear in the class that makes me tired
I see the sun again on the way home
I hate this color
The sky is changing
My grandma’s favorite color
I miss her
The sky is still changing
This is my favorite color
Purple Green Blue White
The colors in my room
I’m home and this room is where I stay
Blue White
I’m laying in bed and looking up at the ceiling
Blue sky and white clouds in various shapes
My dad turned off the lights
I’m thinking
About life
About myself
Depression is coming
I’m getting sad
A friend texts me
They cheer me up
I’m once again sleep.

Audrey - Marshay R.

Audrey – Marshay R.

What happened to her i can’t tell you
Audrey that was her name
How she managed to smell like peppermint and hair grease at the same time i don’t know
Audrey was a beast in the kitchen
On thanksgiving morning knowing her mac and cheese would be godly
Man……it was like she put her foot in them greens
She was wise, told me that 2+2=4 when i couldn’t manage to figure out the answer to life’s
Honey blond hair, she sang the life out of that Mary J. Blige song as if she was her little sister.
Her shortness made me laugh.
Especially when she asked me to reach for a cup so she can pour her Pepsi.
Warm brown eyes that made it seem like everything would be okay while laying in her hospital
She loved playing cards.
I was the ace of spade and she was always the queen of hearts.

My Name - Marshay R.

My Name – Marshay R.

Yesterday my name was irritated bush.
Today my name is
Pancakes, cheerleader with no pom poms.
Sometimes I am
A troll,
Bitter as a lime,
The floor you walk on.
Strangers think my name is gate,
Kind young lady,
Pretty spider
People dont know I am
Albert Einstein , a bowl of noodles,
A cold piece or a peep hole
My real name is a secret but I’ll tell you straight curved,
narrow wide.

Buried under myself­ - Tyrie Bradley

B​uried under myself­ – Tyrie Bradley

What’s under me
Feelings that I hide and keep people away from
Feelings that when people ask whats i wrong i say nothing, I’m fine.
Shatter pieces of the heart that has been stomped out by words
The old me
The me that was talked about, outcasts by others
The names that people called me to bring me down
Nerd, lame, loser, worthless, gay, unnecessary, weird, unpopular.
Screams of anger,depression, and loneliness
Memories of a time when i was truly happy
A time when i didn’t care what people thought of me
Friends that were never really friends
People who walked out on me when i needed them to be there
Ideas that were brilliant in my own mind but broken down and destroyed by others for being
Thoughts of my reality vs my dream
Those are under me but you will never see that

Counting The Years ­ - Damon Hogan

I’m Not A Poet ­- Damon Hogan

I’m not a poet,
I just have bows for lips,
spitting to get my point across
with this pencil. Period.

I’m not a poet,
I’m the mind’s vocalist focusing
on the world. A cosmology
locked in my voice box.

I’m not a poet, no,
I am a nuisance kicking metaphors
that hang off your optic nerve like nooses,
your feeling my words is like a new sense.

I’m not a poet,
I’m a theory. A time machine
dotting my eyes with black holes,
every stanza marking new timelines.

I am not a poet,
I am a blacksmith with language,
crafting swords from each syllable,
forged from will power.

I’m not a poet, no.
I ignite stanzas that burn through canvas,
matchsticks shaped like metaphors.
I am nothing but a penciled wick.

I am not a poet,
No one could carry my burden,
carving my life on loose leaf
like sunlight on new leaves.

I’m not a poet,
I am the poem. Living
between lines
like spiders on silk

Counting The Years ­ - Damon Hogan

Counting The Years​­ – Damon Hogan

Year one: god gave me a gun
Year two: he told me to shoot
Year three: and god don’t know me
Year four: I lost my lord
Year five: I’m struggling to survive
Year six: I can’t repent
Year seven: he loads a Mac 11
Year eight: now I got bullet on my plate
Year nine: he is going to blow out my mind
Year ten: I do it all again
Year one: god gave me a gun

He gave me this gun one year into my birth.
He said you control your own destiny.
Kill any nigga in your way, gone ahead send him to me
just remember for every dead nigga you kill
tell him to rest in peace.

I go to sleep.

Wake up crucified, put in crossfire bleeding Crip tendencies.
Thorn crown made of shrapnel, dollar bills, and pocket change.
It’s hard to tell which one’s history is more harmful,
but I got money on the mind.

He told me I control my own destiny
but that’s looking more like fantasy, less statistic.
I’m just hungry trying to break bread with the gods

Year two, god told me to shoot.
I’m his soldier; He told me clean the street of sin.
Told me I am the law and if I’m tested, give them hell.
Pray over every round then let it stitch the sins closed
while opening their heart and soul to reality.

Let this bloodshed cleanse your heart of sin.
Remember it’s all the blood of Christ.
This ain’t nothing but wine and I’m going to let his
blood alcohol content burn these sins off my soul.

Year three, I’m not so holy.
He told me my soul reeked of evil.

Said sin had washed over me.
Blood was all I had a thirst for
and ain’t no holy water can quench that.

Baptism feeling like an acid bath,
I prayed over every round but the sound of that
gat clap sounding like the whole choir.
Give it a solo and an encore, then I give a standing ovation.
Who needs church when you got an angel in your grip?

Year four, I lost my lord
He is ignoring me; He is not my Savior.
He is my supplier for my addiction.
I need more bullets. I need more bullets
but he won’t answer my call

I got this itch and I can’t scratch it.
I can’t feel my finger tips no more.
They went numb from them gun shots.
I can’t even stomach food no more,
it ain’t the same with out that wine.
I’m intoxicated and he ain’t healing no more.

Year five, I’m struggling to survive.
I can’t take this. A life of sin
is what I’m living without that ammo.
I need to clean the streets of these demons.
I call for him, please, help me lord.
He replies get on your knees and tell me you love me.

Told me this ain’t love no more, just business,
and if I wanted to be cleansed suck the blood
from his dictatorial diction.

Drink from the bible.
I don’t want no damn book, I came for blood.
Year six, I can’t repent.
Lord please forgive me for this sin,
but I’m about to kill anybody who ain’t saved.

I got one bullet in my hand.
I’m not clean any more.
Ain’t no hallelujahs going to heal my soul.

Year seven, I load the Mac 11
I need a taste. I need a hit of it.
Clean my soul lord.

Year eight, god gave me a taste.
Told me he don’t need me.
My soul ain’t clean.
My soul is tarnished
darker than my skin
and all these acidic baptisms
not doing nothing but burning.
I need something stronger.
Give me a hit of heat.

Year nine, he said it’s my time .
God cocks the gun
and I get a wake up call:
Ain’t no roosters here,
only me and the lord.
No fear in his eyes, I’m going to die.

This gun tastes like holy water and biblical text.
Jesus take the wheel––
Asking myself what would He do ?
This ain’t no crucifix but I’m being crucified
to this loose addiction. I need a hit.
I need to sleep. Dream.
Fall asleep little nigga.
You see that light?
Rest in peace

Year ten.
Gun in lap one year into my birth,
you control your own destiny.

Kill any nigga in your way, gone ahead send him to me
just remember for every dead nigga you kill
Tell him to rest in peace

I go to sleep

Shabbat Afternoons - Sammy

Shabbat Afternoons – Sammy

I am eight.
Saturday morning services
are a place for serious prayer,
but I’m allowed to run around the back rooms
as long as the adults don’t catch up.
Last week in Mrs. Sterling’s class
Miriam shared her story out loud.
She said she was nervous,
but she’s too big for that.
Aviva just lost her fifth tooth.
All of mine fell out at home, so
I’ve never had Morah Littman shuffle
through her overflowing cabinet,
checking up and down and up again
until she finds the toothshaped
box I need
to protect the bloody piece of bone
I hold in my hand.
When shul is over, Rebecca starts the walk back to her house.
She’s the second oldest, you know,
and she can lead better than anyone
except maybe her parents.
When you think about it,
the shortcut across the park takes longer
than walking alongside the road,
but it’s the only way I get to feel the open breeze on my cheek
and scatter geese in a thousand directions
when I get too close.
I could almost get to the house from here,
if I wanted to.
We hold hands and wait for Ezra.
Make sure he doesn’t sprint across by himself.
Look left, right, left again
and go but don’t run.
Over the bridge and look for minnows.
Left on Strawberry Street,
up the front porch,
down to the basement,
right turn,
right turn,
crouch down and open the door
to the room under the stairs,
wait inside but don’t turn on the light.
When Miriam and Rebecca and Aviva come in
lock it shut,
and even when Ezra cries
and yells to open up,
don’t do it
unless Mom says so
but by that time,
the moment’s gone.

Yams - YaKuZa moon

Yams – YaKuZa moon

I. Visions

                                                         I had a vision.
Droves of familiar copper tones in the mirror
Trying to get their hair to bend to someone’s will.
But who told you kink was nasty?

A man who ran from the sun jipped me at the checkpoint.
He saw that I was electric and turned my soles to rubber,
tripping off the imagery of his imperial wizardry, it was then I knew.
If I die it’s revolutionary suicide.

The earth has gone barren, and spit out its own children
I, sea faring but not god fearing am in search for new worlds
I crossed few rivers and was deemed unholy by those who bathe in blood,
so I decided to spill my heart in their atrium;
“Out walking my DOGMA thinking I AMGOD
Relishing a relic for solace.
Wool on my eyes and the lord is my shepherd.”
I have sinned and my people will pay.

II. Reckoning

Fire and flesh all around. There is no checkpoint only several finish lines
Purple fevers striking merciless into the temples of the purest.

All I want for my birthday is freedom, is this the price?
We have to decide whether to drown or burn.

the wrath is here, and I can’t remember any of the codes.
This history is not my own.

stop breathing and remove the rubber shoes, a withered voice calls out,
concrete is giving way and I recall.

The visions are in reverse now, I see a grandfather, mine.
He is freeing souls with his scimitar in hand.

This is the glory, MY glory we are all.
I see the mirrors again.

And I remember my granddaddy was a Dogon so when he looked in the mirror,
He saw no god.

Remember - Savannah

Remember – Savannah

When the kids made fun of you because you lived down the street from the school.
Because you were always punctual.
Remember they teased you because you weren’t tall enough to climb the monkey bars.
I wish I could forget.
When it took half an hour to get to school.
It gave you the time to decide who you were going to pretend to be for the day.
Damien Rice drowned your eardrums in sorrow and wisdom.
And James Bay made the gears in your head spin about the love you thought was your first.
You met him 7 months later.
I wish I could forget.
When I turned 16, John Mayer taught me that I was slow dancing in a burning room.
My first love came along and the mask I decided on wearing for 6 hours a day 7 months earlier
was deemed unnecessary.
I wish I could forget.
But I remember.
Sometimes I forget to remember.

DPS - Faith

DPS – Faith

Davis, Tanecea Hughes, Jayla Diamond
Later in our 6pm broadcast,
what is really wrong with Detroit Public Schools?

Can they be saved?
Do you think schools will really start closing by April?
They say we’re running out of money.
Yeah, Running out of money we’ve never seen
Something smells fishy!

Welcome to DPS: See It Believe It
Every last one of their lies

Chatter, laughter, whispers, gossip, smiles…
Homecoming, prom, friends, boyfriends, girlfriends…
A beautiful school, qualified and happy teachers
And then I woke up
I almost vomited when I smelled what they call lunch here
Oh, you should be grateful
This is the special today!
I’d rather wait for dinner
Or just go back to juvie school
Their food is edible

See it Believe it

This is the place where dreams go to die
There’s enough cracks in the building for you to slip through
And when it spits you back up you’ll no longer be you
It spit you back out as a statistic

7% of DPS 8th graders proficient in reading
6 classes a day we sit in broken desks even older than our textbooks.
5 days of suspension for students who stood up for their education
4% of 8th graders are proficient in math.
3.5 billion dollars in debt and they won’t use their common senses.
2 hands on their arms and they can’t lend us one.
One. Credit. Left. For a high school senior to graduate.
But that cap and gown
We don’t see it. We don’t Believe it

I’ve tripped over enough broken dreams
I’ve decided I’ll never let this dollar sign defines me
Because I remember the emergency manager is waiting to see us all fall down
Because he needs to manage his bank account
I mean manage the emergency the emergency that is me
But we all know he’s decided we can’t be saved

If you beat a dog and it gets a chance to leave,
It will
It will find a new owner who cares about them
Our teachers care about us
So they’re willing to take the beatings
Even as they’re being pushed over the edge

As we see them pushed over that edge
we are dragged along their sides
we fight and we fight
But no one cares.
Our education. Our education . It’s OUR education .
Standing in the cold
Chanting: “We are the future.”
Chanting: “DPS, we deserve the best.”

With our signs held high
Being ripped apart by the cars that pass us by
Being ripped apart by the reporters who choose not to come.
Because the students aren’t affected by this. Make
into a question?

Because our voices don’t
this is the answer to your own question?
We see it, we believe it , That We. Don’t. Matter.

SOLIDARITY to our homies out in Flint
told to “relax” when they can’t use
water from their faucets
As if there’s this mystical
resolution box
oh wait Snyder lost
the key to unlock it
Michigan the trending topic ,
But the feeling of us, our people
Being poisoned is more than un satisfying
Our black youth not being educated
is more than terrifying

The world’s population is growing by the second
Resources, we have none
Overflowing the cup of the earth, killed off in mass sums
We are being sacrificed to control the capacity
Having the audacity
Drastically but casually ripping away our families
Flooding out my city
With the blasphemy of their lies
Getting more of that gold when another one dies
Rich Rick doesn’t click on the pic of those guys
Who Mr. Early promised he’d give real supplies
they’re dead and gone, we all know why
Our existence isn’t worth the struggles in their perfect lives.

Meet Our New E-Board Members!


undr_scr review has been busy this summer! We welcome our two new staff members: Shelbie Wright & Ivory Fields.

Click the link below to learn more about them!