Social Justice Poetry

Arya F. Jenkins

White Ass Reacts to Uncertainty | A Social Justice Poem by Arya F. Jenkins

She is frightened of the
Black man the darkness
The question the unknowing
Bigness of it lurking
Riots Hangings Violence
Don’t matter who done it
The scene unscrolls like a nightmare the eyes have seen
The glory of putting down evil
And All it represents
Black evil
White good
Good white
Evil black
For the uneducated the
World Must be simple
Must be and complications
Need to be smacked down

What do I do with
What I don’t understand?
What do I do?
What do I do with the rush of the question that makes me feel
Not curious but bad
Oddly ugly
Out of place because
I see what I am capable of becoming
I feel the trigger in my hand
I know what to do
What is my right to do
When I see a bad thing
A black thing threatening
A poor white girl like me
I shoot why I shoot
I shoot shoot.

Visit Arya at

St. Louis | A Social Justice Poem by Arya F. Jenkins

A man stumbles about
Lost in his own shadow
And the police shoot and
Kill him

I don’t understand
How the world
Has come to this
Anymore than this deranged young soul
Now flying free above the debris
Of his own body

Now high above the madness here below

How did we come to this?
Men failing to see their own shadows
So caught up in the urge to
Eradicate what they don’t understand
All they can do is die
Inside their own guns and rifles

While we
We who are innocent
Look on
A different derangement taking us
Far far from where we once were
When we dreamed of holding hands
And starting a new world.

Visit Arya at

Ferguson | A Social Justice Poem by Arya F. Jenkins

Outside the bitter truth defies
What I understand

What I understand is shattered
By people

Crowding, arms raised with signs
Calling for justice

Some of them with raised hands

Like justice

Who am I

What am I

I call these into question

As the advancing military police aims its guns at us
Attempting to silence us

They are masked
They are silent
They have bullet proof vests
They cannot be touched

Still they fire into our very center
Where the right to cry for truth
Spills like an ugly wound into the streets
Dispersing with red smoke into the night.

Visit Arya at