One Day

February 8th, 2015

one day i said 
you would build fires in your head 
ablaze with all the synapses firing, 
a target practice for your next show down with injustice.

one day i asked 
if you valued your own 
tongue. 
the language that it speaks with 
the words that it teaches with.

’cause though i see you do, 
sometimes reminders are overdue. 
you’d have me listen. 
you’d have us all listen. 
take a moment and ponder the punchline 
take a moment and ponder our punched lives.

some people say laughter is the best medicine, 
and you’d reply spoken word’s the best therapy, 
swapped spoken stories the world’s best relation to behold.

but you’ll inevitably run the risk 
that another will make your stories into trophies to 
give to another to 
put up on a world stage 
a report page 
or a pedestal to gather dust.

live them out loud 
and they’ll out live you.

spoken word exposes 
the all-too-often unspoken 
words. teaches the tongue to speak 
what the heart already knows.

and speaking doesn’t come easy. 
there’ve been far to many slivered tongues. 
speaking sometimes comes slowly 
or slips up on sloped memories 
snags on broken window frames to childhood 
snared by lasting impressions of oppression. 
while all the while we sipped on another story 
its taste the flavor of humanity.

street signs say “NO TURN ON RED” 
but you choose to swerve 
when blood flows on the street. 
to take a different road than the history that’s been repeatin’ 
on what feels like every intersection 
south of the train tracks.

while driving home, your words drove home the message.

there are a few institutions i could name 
(sure you could think of a few too) 
that’ve been running around like chickens 
with their heads cut off 
headless and heedless 
no mind for their footfalls. 
got a lot of fancy lies to disguise 
the game they’re playin’ 
the thing is, it’s NOT a game they’re messing with 
they’re peoples’ lives. You hear that? lives. 
this game’s been planned. 
outlined in invisible lines 
only to invisibilize the intent. 
i’m sure you hear, i’m sure you feel, ’cause it’s your life too 
that’s messed with.

your writing has a voice of its own 
(is that a strange thing to say?) 
one day it said: i would like to have a word with you. 
in fact, make that three. 
We. Must. Speak. 
we must speak OUT for what we see 
to build community and solidarity. 
we must speak UP for our lost dreams 
before they lose their voices.