Every word in me is a stallion.

I am pounding all my hooves.

They wanted to silence you, but they will not.

They wanted to strap you down, straighten you out,

Teach you when to speak and when to be silent, but you
defied them.

You, the mustang no man could break,

The storm they couldn’t weather,

The wave that drowned them,

The slave that would not speak their false names,

You will not be bound by the chains of decorum,

You are free.

In ancient Greece, they called us makers.

The poets were the creators

And so in celebration of the creator in me, I dare to
speak with you.

To use you to recite new realities.

Hello magic wand. Hello holy grail.

Welcome catalyst, game changer, Welcome Genesis.

There is enough here to build nations.

It is enough that the people hear these words,

Every poem spoken is a ray of light, a guiding star
pointing true north,

Bringing us home.

One is on the subway in Brooklyn, writing in his tattered journal.

One is on the porch steps playing word games with her
friends,

One is standing in the center of the cypher, more
alive than he’s ever been.

One is in the back of the crowd at open mic night,
palms sweaty, waiting.

One just opened her eyes for the first time to look
into the faces of the makers that spoke her into existence.

One is anywhere, and some are everywhere

And we are all Poetry.