Boy

Scraped from the wombs

Of a broken child

Screams united with

The new and the old

Fresh fists clenched

Power born

A Girl

As told by doctors 

Only looking skin deep

A Boy 

Is blossomed in the soul

Of the resurrected 

He forms a voice

Often silenced

Reclaims the fist he was born with

He will no longer be an Icarus

With Society being the Sun

Truth and Freedom ring

From golden lungs

Raw and Bleeding

He will not stop

Until the message is clear

Until the message is heard

Until the message is word.

This poem is about: 
Me
My family
My community
My country
Our world

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741