These veins will no longer drip rust.

I will scream

loud

and high-pitched

And I will be recognized.

I will force them to hear me

and I hope my anger will

disgust them

and my eyes

blind them

And they will

choke

on my words and

know what it’s like to taste

bile.

My anger will be ugly

and vicious

and my voice the

spilling of blood.

Shred your books and burn what you know.

Pay attention.

The revolution will not be televised.