My poem is not silent
It's daily
It's a knife, it's even
A necessity.
Intense, it anticipates and, now they'll say...
It's a style
With no hiding place
My poem
Decrees existence, here, there.
Possessing childhoods,
It's a flower, it's even
A home.
It knows no order
No assumption
No verdict of ignorance
My poem is intransigent
It's a poet alert to farce.
It possesses disobedience, it's even
A heart.
It doesn't feign, it doesn't flee.
It's birds migrating
It's for those alive today, it's bent on justice.
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