Cotton black, toil of

hands and scar-riddled spine,

I trace my journey

          from rivers and tranquility.

               You came in boats, you came in boats.

Touch is not quietus

sheathed guise of favour, I have

seen the blood darken my mat,

          spill from my mouth, cradle your

               seed, strangle my brethren.

Warriors unmarked

are raised to the ancient stars

name them numerous and upright.

          They shriek our glories as we tell them,

               sing us child, sing us clear and shrill.

Rather be lonely

than be like you

laughing by the lockers

whispering when I pass.

What makes you act like that?

Are differences so bad?

What crime in your conviction

warrants sentence to expulsion,

solitary, repulsion?

To be true to myself -

your right can't take that,

it’s all I have left.

But I confess

I am afraid

You’ll try to steal my liberty.