Be free my boys
I’m wondering what it would take to bury the weight on my shoulders so deep it becomes a platform, with a podium that elevates, enlightens me and the crowd I face. Built-in microphones allow for my experience and words to resonate farther out, hitting ear drums like the beats them tassa boys from back home used to play.
I’m waiting for the day where pain of my brothers shielded and walled becomes transparence glistening like the jewel it is. To show pain is to know world. To feel not as other but as others feel.
I think, long and hard, about how I could support my people so they don’t feel like this world is not worth standing tall in, barrel chested, effervescent and stoic. Demanding of attention, but more than that — love.
I wish, my love could travel. Far and wide. Touch hearts, lift voices, soothe minds. But that’s not for me, that’s the weight this world puts on my shoulders, bowing my platform under my weight, making me lower into a depth that I can’t step out of. So instead I’ll shrug, like Atlas did to wake the world.
