Freedom is tangible as glass stars.
While it shimmers and shakes under the sky,
It burns quickly, flickering out as dusk rises.
Beneath the ashes the small ones scream,
Filing into the streets below,
The remains of stars padding on the rooftops.
They point at the empty glass,
Telescopes zoomed in to see the last flickering of light.
"There it is!" They say. "All is well here."
While babies cry in the corners,
Dying to be fed,
And their mamas cry as they lay them down.
While the Woman works wildly,
Tiring nights and torn fingernails,
For 75 cents.
While the black man is beaten,
A criminal they say,
Blood falling on the pavement.
While the transgirl is raped on her way back from class,
Her screams pierce the air,
Underneath the empty, shattering glass.
While the Muslim is mocked,
Her sacred clothing tossed away.
She is the embodiment of terror and blood.
While the lesbian is thrown out.
She's alone on the streets.
No family to hold her, but maybe she is free.
The flag still hoisted high,
Decaled with empty stars
Waves over schools of violence and pain.
Still we call it freedom, these empty stars of ours
For we have the right to say,
This is not what freedom is.
A dream to be respected,
Words paint across the sky.
The night is emblazoned with freedom in its eyes.
Each time we speak,
Your ears will hear our song.
We are reinventing freedom.
A light shines in the distance,
Amidst the terror and tears.
Glass finally shatters.
With these shards we rebuild.
We put fire in the sky.
We have freedom to live, and this freedom will never die.
As long as there are voices,
We'll fill the stars with freedom.