Only when a lion is poked and prodded
does it turn and roar.
Only when a whisper is spat on and silenced
does it turn into a scream.
Only when a life is faced with death
does it become meaningful.
Waiting for an instigator in order to become a creator
when really, you'll always just be a waiter.
Lions don't hesitate to rule the kingdom,
they only yell when their reign is questioned.
Whispers aren't quiet so that they go unheard,
they're only soft because an edge is unwanted.
Life isn't meant to be lived just waiting for death,
it's only life that makes death itself.
In all of these truths, there are fallacies,
because nobody sees the things
that I see.
Everybody I know just goes with the wave,
never bothering to wonder from where it came.
That's where I'll be the change.
Things are not okay,
despite what politicians say.
Things don't fix themselves,
despite what pastors say.
Things are just not okay.
and even if my screams echo into an empty room,
I will not whisper:
because this time, the edge is wanted, needed even.
and even if my attempts to tear the indestructible blindfold go undetected,
I will not throw my hands up in defeat:
because this time, the vision cannot be hindered, distracted even.
and even when the authoritative hand throws its fingers over my mouth,
I will bite:
because this time, lips will deliver and ears will listen.