I'm not often called upon as my voice speaks softly

My soul is whirling around in circles, searching to be found

My mouth is silent, but my mind speaks words over and over

As I stutter, words come out and my eyes hold back tears

And I hold onto those words, catching my breath, and letting it go

My gentle hands anxiously twirl around my pencil

They lay on my lap, on the table, and my chin rests on them too

My hands often reaches my chest, as I try to hold on to the real words

They fall out of my hands as the wind takes them away

sick of injustice, racism, and poverty going broken

I walk as if the floor will hurt my feet, rushing past the strangers beside me

But I will not give up, because my turn has come to speak the truth, to inspire

To fight

To express

To let go of what I stress over and over

My caring heart beats one at a time, the rhythm vibrating in my ears

All I am stuck between now is anger and finding the way out of this cage of misunderstanding

I am tired of being blind to the ones who are being mistreated for my bliss

I am not going let it hold me back

The paper needs to turn alive

I am a poet.