Dear NWLs
I’m tired.
I’m tired of telling you I’m tired
and swallowing my protest
when you look away
so you can maintain
we are one:
Unity, on your terms.
I’m tired of screaming into the
abyss of your
shame made sharp,
“Revolution cannot sing
without a song assembling
between our two hearts,
yours beating fast with blame,
and mine skipping the beats
you excised with your
sickle of silence.”
I’m tired.
My voice is peeled
down to a single
cord, from which
I will weave
a blanket.
This poem was featured in Beyond the Page’s Human Rights Day Poetry Collection.