I dream of thoughts and spaces where I reclaim my power,

I dream of reciting verses:

A reclamation of the use of my voice.

A voice that in reality fights being free,

Fights the regard for me.

 

I speak of what is not being released through the intention in my verbs.

I speak of peace and wisdom at the tip of our tongue,

Forever holding on,

But just hard to come up with,

Yet it never leaves your conscious.

 

I speak of words saving me:

Un-breaking me.

Forsaking me. 

The dreams of those before me:

Reawaken within me.

They call to me,

Show me how to break my own mental barriers.

 

Whenever triple consciousness comes crashing down on me,

My hands come find me.

When I hide,

I am found in my writing. 

Perhaps it is a gift that can only be accessed through generations of pain:

The ability to run with chains. 

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