CATCHING FIRE
"𝐕𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐝." —Martin Luther King
We're born from a country of war
Raised to embrace the silent oppression
We're told the death of our children is redemption
That the death of our sons and daughters are a loss
We hush the mournful cries of our children when they get too loud
Closing the shutters to conceal them from reality
We kiss them goodbye instead of goodnight
We hold their hands as we walk them to potential death,
and forcefully, we're ripped apart because you said so
We watch our sons and daughters fight and die for your entertainment
You were there as they all died and one won
We were there when they left, and we are here if they return
Where are you now that they scream into the darkness of the night?
We now mourn our babies that we've birthed to fight an unfortunate war
We are the unheard,
we are vengeful,
and unfortunately for you, we are angry
— The Districts
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"𝐔𝐬𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐝𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐫𝐲 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐨𝐧. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐫𝐲, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐚 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞." — Malcolm X
I'm walking through a country in a silent war There's bullets in my gun heavy and loaded
I can't open fire now
There's enemies around me yet my gun remains concealed
Instead I'll cover my ears,
pull at the hairs on my nape,
I'll scream when I enter where I shall lay my head,
and I'll keep remembering to conceal my gun
Like the waves come and go, I'll watch my days do the same
I'll wait for the day someone comes and opens fire
When that day comes—I will sharpen my nails,
and clean the holster to my weapon,
I will coat my hands in sin and blood as I bring judgement day back to you
I am walking on a battlefield of stones and fire
Lord, bless Panem, because my gun is no longer concealed
— Jenesis Hammaz