I am Speaking to Persuade — Young Authors Greenhouse

I Am Speaking to Persuade

This small collection of student work was written during the 2019-2020 school year in our Justice Through Poetry, Girlhood in Color, and Writing the Stories We Breathe programs and is part of our forthcoming publication, but we wanted to share it now. These are the voices to listen to.

Malasia

Age 13

Malasia loves drawing, food, and playing volleyball. She also loves wearing necklaces and bracelets that represent herself. Her favorite accessory is her cell phone. She has one dog that lives with her dad; it is a black-and-white pitbull with brown eyes. Malasia lives to journal. She also likes to listen to music in her free time and is on a volleyball team at her school. Malasia is very passionate about her religion.

My Crying Shame Of Injustice

One day in third grade, I sat by a boy, Chris. Another boy had a really cool rubber band bracelet. Chris stole the bracelet. The boy told the teacher about the stolen bracelet—and the teacher assumed I had stolen the bracelet. The boy sat between me and Chris, but he didn't see Chris take the bracelet. The teacher humiliated me and searched my desk. Although he didn’t find the bracelet in my desk, he called my mom and told her that I had hidden the bracelet.

Just because I’m black doesn’t mean I’m misbehaved or smart-mouthed. I have been stereotyped because of my race. I have dealt with injustice in many settings—this is one.

When I got home, my mom waited for me to tell her what had happened. As soon as I walked through the door, I dropped my things on my bed. I dashed into the kitchen where my mom was and sat faster than a bullet. I was loud and heavy footed on my way into the kitchen.

I quickly said, “Momma, guess what happened today?” She turned her head and calmly said, “You stole a bracelet?” with a questioning face. I replied, “No!” She said, “Okay,” with a hesitant nod. I eventually convinced her that I didn't steal the bracelet. She knew that I wasn’t a thief.

The next day at school, the teacher made me apologize to the boy. I did, but it wasn’t a sincere apology because I didn’t do anything wrong. The teacher then made me pull a chair up to his desk and sit there for the rest of the month until he got to know me. It made me feel very sad. I felt very ashamed about how I was treated. Later, I became angry at the thought. I felt rage about being treated that way. I was glad my mom trusted me and believed me.

Injustice is something that bothers me and I want people to know that it's okay to tell someone how you feel. It's okay to tell the person who treated you unfairly how they made you feel. I watch a show about injustice that has many scenes of people treating others unfairly; there are even people who are scared to talk about how they have been treated. It's called Law and Order. I like this show because there's always justice being displayed.

Imagine feeling broken from a situation.

I don’t like when people are falsely accused. That’s one of the reasons I've wanted to be a lawyer since I was five years old. I have even thought about applying to high schools because of their law and government academies.

I can imagine myself in fifteen years standing at a podium of power with a white button-down blouse, my shirt elegantly tucked into my plain black pants. I am speaking to persuade.

Aya

Age 13

Aya Alzubaidy lives in Louisville, Kentucky with a big family. She likes to read and write. Her biggest future goal is to publish twelve books and be a successful dentist or pediatrician. Her favorite food is tacos and her favorite color is blue or purple. She gets inspired to write from the Young Authors Greenhouse people and her favorite dessert is ice cream.

Just Because

Just because I’m a girl doesn’t mean I’m not capable or responsible. Girls are always underestimated and expected to look perfect.

Just because I am Muslim doesn’t mean I want to hurt you or that I go to bomb-making class.

I remember watching the news and seeing people say that muslims are a threat to others.

Just because I’m not sharing my opinion doesn’t mean I don’t have one.

I remember people speak but never listen and understand. Instead they talk over you and never give you a chance. They don’t open their ears and brain, but always their mouths.

Just because I am “different” doesn’t mean I don’t deserve what everyone else does.

I remember looking at a survey and the first question was about race. None of the answers fit me. But I guess I should just check “other” because that’s what I am, right? Just “other.”

I remember people choosing others automatically over me because I don’t look like I know English. Because a piece of clothing on my head defines who I am, including my language.

Just because you say there is justice, doesn’t mean there really is.

Hate is a hit with tight fists.

Hate is boiling water.

Hate is a thief—stealing confidence and comfort.

I remember justice, fairness, and equality being promised to everyone. But is it there? Is it a broken promise? They say, “All men are created equal.” Do they mean, all wealthy white men are created best? No matter their actions or opinions?

I remember getting into a car accident with someone who turned the wrong way. My mom was the one driving, so she had to talk with the lady who hit her. When the cops came, they didn’t believe my mother because she was wearing a hijab and we were too. The woman who hit us assumed we didn’t know english, so she just started talking about us to the cop, saying it was our fault.

I remember the answer. There is no such thing as justice. But there would be if people stopped judging. If people listen to understand. If people understand that we are people and deserve the same privileges.

If I could pass any law, I would pass the law saying that money and looks don’t come first. I would put the importance of life first.

Khilah

Age 13

Khilah E. Banks is the best at making a grilled sandwich de queso con tocino, which translates to a grilled cheese sandwich with bacon. She loves old school rappers such as Tupac Shakur and N.W.A. Khilah. She lives with her mom and two sisters. Khilah will eventually become an anesthesiologist.

What A Myth

“With liberty and justice for all.”

What a myth.

We say these things everytime we do the pledge but in reality, it's not true. With so much racism, police brutality, and discrimination, how can this lyric be true? I refuse to stand for the pledge, because why should I show any type of respect or honor for a lie?

Every morning when my school stands up and does the pledge I stay in my chair and receive sharp and startling looks from both students and teachers. Just because I refuse to do the Pledge of Allegiance doesn’t mean that I don’t love my home. Just because I’m black doesn’t mean that I’m uneducated. It doesn’t mean that I don’t deserve the liberty or justice that others receive. My people breathe just like you, they bleed just like you so why treat them any differently?

Where’s the liberty and where’s the justice that you all pledge to have?

People ask, “Where is the police brutality?

I would tell you to ask Oscar Grant, Sean Bell or Micheal Brown. I would say all of the unarmed black men were brutally killed by police. Injustice against people of color has been a thing for years now and there are plenty of examples to back that up.

The Central Park 5.

The murder of Jordan Edwards.

The way we are searched when pulled over.

I believe that not only just myself, but other people of color deserve justice.

I believe one day we will have it. We are Americans too.

Just because our skin is dark and our hair is coiled doesn’t mean that we don’t deserve to have what most people are born with — justice.

Rokaia

Age 14

Rokaia is the daughter of two Iraqis, but she was born and raised in Louisville, KY. She has been living in the same house her whole life. As the fourth out of five children, she has three sisters, one brother, and two parents. She shares a room with her crazy and wild younger sister named Sarah. Born on October 13, 2005, Rokaia is a 14-year-old eighth grader. Rokaia really wants to travel and would love to visit Iraq again. When she grows up, Rokaia plans on becoming a lawyer. Her favorite color is olive green and she despises the color orange. Her favorite author is Stephen King and she is currently reading his book “The Dark Tower: The Gunslinger.” She is quite a feminist and believes that all people should be treated equally.

A So-Called Home And What It Should Be

Living in a toxic environment should never be normal for people, but it is for my family in America. An environment where you wouldn’t want to be different. A place where being different is bad. A place where racism and discrimination are normal. A home is a place where I should be able to sit comfortably without feeling scared or unsafe. A place where one can stay with their family without having to worry about the possibility of someone breaking in or targeting them. I can’t even lay in my bed without thinking that someone could break into my house any second—thinking that someone would target me specifically because I am not the stereotypical white, or because I wear a hijab that says “I am Muslim.”

I am from red roses—buying them every time my mom comes back from Iraq and buying them for each family member’s birthday. From growing them in our front yard to giving them to loved ones. The roses my mother loves and the ones she dedicates her time to. The love it expresses along with the time it takes. From watering the plants every other day, to making sure they get enough sunlight. Making sure to use the right soil, and even the correct amount of water. Going to Iraq myself and being the one that receives the roses. They are similar to humans. They come in many colors and shapes, bright and dark. Looking at a rose makes me feel better, the beauty just gives me a more positive vibe. They are filled with many memories that I cherish and feel make roses even better. I wish to be able to go to Iraq again, which also means coming back to roses again.

I am Iraqi. I was born in America, but I consider myself Iraqi. There are people there. It’s not a country of danger. There may have been a war, but the country is beautiful, and one-of-a-kind. I don’t mean the people; I said the country. Being able to go and not experiencing racism or discrimination. A country surrounded by my fellow Muslims. My beautiful brothers and sisters. The sound of people selling food on the streets. The smell of gasoline and burning tires. Not because of conflict, it's just considered normal there. The taste of Arabic tea in my mouth. The coffee that they choose to drink at night, and the cup noodles we’d stay up eating. The way everything is unique—from what you see to what you smell. Iraq is beautiful. It isn’t a deadzone of sand and scorpions. This country you don’t see is not a literal desert. It’s home to many. It’s home to roads, buildings, and people like me. I am trying to say the country is as much of a home to me as America is to you. The cities are lit up at night, sparkling with many amazing lights. There are malls, grocery stores, and parks, too. The culture and the way people dress. The many colors of the rainbow, all seen at once. The grocery stores that you can find inside the mall. The smell of bread in the streets and the smoke of the never-ending flames.

I do not look American, but I was born here. Born and raised in the same house for most of my life, in the same city and state. I live in America, which is where I am from wearing my religion on my head, showing my beliefs like they’re written on my forehead. I am from receiving compliments for my hijab, while also receiving insults. Being able to wear my hijab without anyone commenting or saying something about it. This is what I wish for. This is why I am from self-love. From then and still now. I might fall off track sometimes, but there is nothing that I love more than myself. Even if that means ignoring all the hate comments about how I look or act. People calling me “fat,” “ugly,” or even “short.” I have built myself up to know and believe that these comments don’t matter as much as I originally thought they did. These are just simple ways that people can see you. Not all people think of me this way, but there are some that do. The only opinion that matters is my own. I’ll never let your negative energy in, and I’ll never let my positive energy out.

I might not look like the stereotypical, white person that is considered an “American,” but I can speak English. Fluently actually, the same way you would expect a white person to. I go to a normal, public school in Louisville with people of many races and religions.

Just because I cover my head, it doesn't mean I don’t have hair. This is just some kind of stereotypical thing that people believe. They look at me and think “She has no hair. That’s why she covers her head.” When in reality, I cover my head for religious reasons, not because of hair. Trust me, hair is one thing I have a lot of, and yet I still cover my head. There are also people that’ll say things like “Is there a bomb under there?” or “Are you gonna bomb us?” This is what I consider an insult. I won’t be able to tell if you're genuine or just joking around. These are ideas that people put in their head when they see someone that isn’t white and isn’t showing lots of skin. They always see them as a threat, and that’s because they are unfamiliar with it. Even though you may see me as a threat, I’m really not. I come from a religion that revolves around love and peace. I have based my life on this religion, which means my life also revolves around love and peace. I just don’t look the same way as you.

I’m waiting for the day where I can walk outside without thinking someone will try to pull my hijab off, jump me, or even shoot me. Until then, I will continue to wait and pray. I’ll pray for that day to come as soon as possible. While doing that I will continue to tune out all people who insult me and try to protect myself from anything that is coming. I hope that you can do this also. Whether it is you praying or you preparing—I will support you. In the end, I will always have myself—and that's all that matters.

Zamarrea

Age 15

Zamarrea has one blood sister and one god sister. Zamarea doesn't like to write, but when she has to she will because most of it is for a grade. Zamarrea dances when bored, but if she can, she will join a team. Zamarrea lives with her mom, dad, and blood sister. Zamarrea has just written a poem and she kind of liked it. The poem made Zamarrea feel like she could change something in the world if the poem was to be published.

Injustice

Friday Dec 6, 2019.

My mom and I were at my sister’s tournament eating cheesy hot nachos and this skinny white man with long eyelashes pulled his stuff closer to him. In my mind I wanted to tell him that nobody wants his stuff.

But he would have said, “No, I was just making space.”

No, he wasn’t.

If I were to say that then I would have been looked at as

dangerous,

aggressive,

and not professional.

People were talking, and no one was paying attention, so if I were to say something, no one would give the reaction that I was looking for.

I wanted people to feel how I felt.

They didn't.

When the man did that, my face turned to stone.

If we were to get a protest going then the street would be roaring.

As long as I stay quiet like a tiger hunting, nothing will get done.

When a black person gets loud, they get looked at funny.

If a white person gets loud, it's just natural.

What makes it okay to just assume a black person has a problem when they get loud?

If a white person did it then they are sleepy or they are just having a bad day.

No, that's not okay.

People say that racism is gone but they don’t see how people treat us.

Teziah

Age 15

Teziah has lived in Louisville her whole life. They claim that she is a poet. She likes Sprite and buffalo wings. Her future goal is to be a pediatric nurse. Most of the time, she’s asleep. She loves to give her friends and family good advice. She also loves to eat food. This project helped Teziah express herself through writing and also everyone can tell how she feels because of her tone. This experience helped Teziah realize that poetry is a great way to express her feelings about issues that matter in her community.

Life of Police Brutality

Isn’t it the police’s job to keep everybody safe?

Is it their duty to kill unarmed black people?

Is it an officer's duty to keep everyone safe?

But how?

And they are killing us, black people.

Atatiana Koquice Jefferson, a 28 year old woman, shot by a white officer, shot in her home in Fort Worth, Texas.

How are we supposed to trust our police officers when they are killing us?

This is society and this is not the way it should be.

How does police brutality even begin?

Do they grow up to be like this?

Mothers have to bury their own child before their child has to bury them.

Can you imagine having to bury your child first?

Can you imagine losing a child or loved one to a police officer?

Put yourself in a black woman’s shoes.

Tore up. Broken down. Dirty. Broken bottoms.

How can we stop this?

How would white people feel if we switched it around and started beating on white people for no reason?

How would white people feel if we killed them for no reason?

Devon Bailey, 19 years old shot in the back by police on August 3, 2019 in Colorado Springs.

Christopher Whitfield, 31 years old, shot by a police officer in Louisiana.

Jamarion Robinson, 26 years old, shot seventy-six times after refusing to open the door of his girlfriend’s home in East Point, Georgia.

Brandon Webber, 20 years old , shot sixteen-twenty times by U.S. Marshalls in Memphis.

D’ettrick Griffin, 18 years old, shot multiple times by officers. D’ettrick was unarmed.

Trayvon Martin, you might know about this one, 17 years old, shot and killed by neighborhood watch volunteer George Zimmerman, February 26, 2012 in Sanford, Florida.

Michael Brown, 18 years old, an unarmed black teenager, fatally shot on August 9, 2014 by officer Darren Wilson.

Laquan Mcdonald, 17 years old, shot sixteen times by Chicago police officer Jason Van Dyke.
Sandra Bland, 28 years old, taken to jail over a traffic stop.

Eric Garner, 44 years old, choked to death by multiple police officers, accused of selling single cigarettes.

How many more do I have to name before y’all understand?

Do you feel how we feel now?

These people were

fathers

mothers

sons

daughters

brothers

sisters

uncles

aunts

cousins

someone

Will this ever end?

Daniel

Age 15

When Daniel started to grow up, he realized how good he was at reading and writing. He became confident and started to have a passion for it. He got off track doing things he wasn’t supposed to be doing. He is hoping he can get back on track. During the poetry project, he learned that poetry is creative and people can express their feelings and what they are passionate about. He’ll probably keep writing because he does enjoy it.

That Memory is Blurry

On the way from Detroit to Louisville.

The car was filled with a fresh new car smell,

like cherries.

My hands rested on the smooth leather armrest,

tapping along to the bass in our music.

Excited to see my family.

I was happy—

like looking at a fresh hundred dollar bill.

There was a woop woop

and red and blue.

The man in brown

walked out cocky

like a bodybuilder.

I was young,

My memory is blurry,

But I remember being scared.

Not knowing what was going to happen,

But knowing what to expect.

After looking in the car,

and seeing our skin,

he turned right around,

and got out the K9 unit.

I was young,

My memory is blurry,

but I remember the look

on the dog’s face.

Vicious.

Like it wanted to eat me.

Judgment in his eyes,

he called more units.

That memory is blurry,

but what I know

after that is

I feel vulnerable

around those in uniform.

And I’m angry

like a tree being consumed by fire,

burning away the trust

that I am supposed to have

for those who are supposed to protect me.

Derrick

Age 14

Derrick likes playing video games. If he is not playing games, he likes to play basketball. If it is cold outside, he just stays in and watches a movie or TV. When Derrick wrote this poem, he was confused, but with help, it was easier.

America Says

America says it’s the land of freedom.