"wounds"
history taught us to put
bridles in our mouths and
submit
to the cracked whip of
inequality. but we no
longer
bite the bit to bleed our
gums
over starving sermons;
crying
children held at gunpoint
in our wombs. we are backs
aching from being bent;
throats
swollen from swallowing
our
precision, our pride, but
now
we are also a gleaming
mass of
new-born hope; we swivel
our hips
to maracas and catch our tears
in the upturned corner of
our smiles.
no longer do we meekly
grasp
the white flag of
prejudice; instead
our banner unfurls across
a
cheering sky as we don our
ballet flats and
suspenders; apply
our battle lipstick and
hair gel,
before stitching history’s
wounds
together.
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