The clock ticked

And my desk squeaked.

Bored; Bored: Bored!

I roared. Yet I could not make a sound.

He stood at the front.

His nose to the ceiling.

Not giving a thought to

What his students were feeling.

 

Quiet and always in the back.

Not willing to speak.

This class is so wack.

Then it began.

 

I kept quiet

As he attacked the dumb.

I kept quiet

As he attacked the whores.

Numb to what he said,

Pretending he didn’t think.

I kept quiet

When he attacked the “wimps,”

The bullied, the depressed

While he defended those

He said were the best.

 

The poem I read,

“First they came,”*

Tells the tale of one

Who had nothing to say.

Until the time

It was he who needed

Speaking for, yet no one

Else was there.

 

Before I could speak,

He came for me.

Attacking my people

Doing as he pleased.

 

I jumped on the table

And said with my voice,

“I am who I am.

They are who they are.

You try to keep us,

In perfect little jars?

POWER!” I screamed,

As I caught every stare.

“POWER. Power to you,

Power everywhere!”

At first they stared with

Strange delight.

Yet, the forever oppressed,

Began to rise to the fight.

“POWER to us! POWER to the rest!”

We screamed.

No longer will we be oppressed.

 

Though one classroom,

Cannot change the world.

It’s a pretty good start,

In part to be the difference.

 

I live in a country,

Where we should be free.

Yet people every day are forced quiet.

People just like me.

No longer can I idly

Stand by.

No longer will I keep

My mouth shut.

I am who I am.

 

Every person deserves a right.

No matter their color, their heritage.

Their light can shine like anyone else’s.

POWER. Power to me.

Power everywhere.

We take a stand.

*Quote by Martin Niemöller