Before she speaks

She will straighten her spine.

Realign the constellations on her back and dust,

Stardust from her palms

From finally catching all of her shooting stars,

Her dream fingertips away.

 

They will try to shoot her down,

With soft words of loneliness and disappointment,

With threats of comfort and security,

With the promise of settling,

But she will not settle.

 

When she raises her fists in protest,

Know that these hands are weapons, not cutlery.

When she raises her fists to the air,

She is holding the world in her hands begging for God to take it back.

She’s got the heavens in her heart and the world in her,

womb all bloodied and bruised,

From the silent wars fought over her body.

Her silence is a worn out gift from birth, while her brothers got toy trucks.

Her silence is both a safe haven and prison,

But the chains are rusted and the walls rotten

 

The stars in her eyes are may be dead,

But her dream is still burning bright.

For when, she finally speaks

They will listen

As she says

No. Katriana Taufalele
McAuley High School