Graffiti The Wall Poem by Paula Glynn

Get your message across,
As she stabs the pavement with her stiletto heels,
Let her know about the ghetto,
The rough side of town,
She forgets about until walking the darkened streets,
For you fight for real issues, real equality,
And to walk the street with your head held high,
As your graffiti opens eyes,
And this is not pop art: this is the word,
These are real people who want to be heard.

Don't bury the hatchet; get up and fight,
Don't stop until you've got it right.
You've got class, guts and soul,
And no matter your background,
You know you're a fighter,
Going to the top,
So forget that art pop:
You've got a message to say; a stage to rock.

Graffiti tells no lies, its patterns of spray paint,
Telling a story of a world in living colour,
No matter the race: black, white, whatever,
Imagination and conviction holds no bounds,
Its graffiti artists interesting and diverse,
For they know the word on the street,
They keep 'em keen by being mean,
Their hair sometimes in ethnic style,
And rocking those skateboards and bikes,
Down to party-hard-road.

Junkies they protect, but pushers,
They don't pimp for,
Graffiti the background of their lives,
As the girls dress up in their war paint:
No colour, how shocking, banned,
And guys and girls rock those street fashions,
The city their roots, their soul,
And any place is fine to gather in,
For even though these are hard times,
This is also the time of their lives,
They being our sisters and brothers in the ghetto,
Dancing in the moonlight to rap from a boombox.