On Revolution
We can’t pretend this scent isn’t burnt flesh anymore
People tell me not to talk about it, like my body will heal itself
But this burn isn’t the kind you run under cool water
It stings as it’s exposed to air,
It heats my muscles like the fire is still there,
And it festers, infected, as dark as my raven hair and eyes
I had gotten so used to its pain I didn’t realise it was even there
I was born with it, grew up with it, surrounded by people who operated despite its presence
In an existence where to acknowledge it is weakness, but to say it isn’t there is ignorance
So with our festering burns we carry on
Even as over-the-counter medications cannot cool its ire or beat back the bacteria
Even as relief is a mythical law we pretend to believe in
Even as we die by its poison
Until
Too many fell
We could no longer pretend the pain could be adjusted to
Or should be adjusted to
We demand medicine
But to some, these wounds are what define us
To some, these wounds are the exclusive privilege of our community
To some, without these wounds, what would we be but an indistinguishable crowd
We cry people
Our nerves ache at the attempt to purge this venom
Our skin pulls at the edges of the scab and tears open, vulnerable, at the least calculated movement
Our bodies protest the onward march, the relentless battle, internal and external,
As we navigate a society that ignores the blood flowing through the streets
Our request remains unfulfilled
But the stench of our cracked and straining beings has been
revealed in stark relief to a liar’s sweet, syrupy perfume
We are revolution
If you can only process us in metaphors and finely crafted poems
Because you cannot comprehend the enormity of the phrase: “I am afraid,” then know
We are neither the cries of angry men marching off to battle
Nor the kind, calm, patient voice spoon feeding you agony, hoping you won’t spit it in or face
Revolution is crying for a day and a half, checking on our loved ones, and going to work the next day.
Revolution is going to class and saying “I’m here.”
Revolution is signing up for classes next semester, getting a degree , and running to the next thing