This is my broken plea.

Where people are expected to rise to a standard, and if they're not they're judged and slandered.

Its funny when uniquness considered weird, is a rule placed by old men with a beard.

Why can't people just live in peace, instead of being broken piece to piece. 

We put ourselves back together, to stand up tall and fight wearing broken leather.

Opinions aren't celebrated, diveristy isn't cheered, when politicians like to sit and mingle with their beers.

People aren't toys or something to mess up, we have feelings, hopes, and dreams they like to breakup.

When will my peices be held and cherished, whle same people who promised watch me perish.

I can't sit and hide behind my laptop screen, hunching behind people to not seen.

When there are people dying every day, because nobody cares enough to say,

That there are people who don't have voices, people sitting without rightful choices.

There are people hungry on the streets, men who see women as a fresh peice of meat. 

People oppressed because of who they love, and people teased for not fitting a glove.

Those sitting in rain without a roof, and cities suffering because they aren't bombproof.

Every day we walk the street afraid, not knowing who could follow with a blade.

Please help us like you said you would, and not sit in a round office without caring on whats good.

Please stand tall and lead us all, because we don't have a voice in this age old brawl.

This is my broken plea.