recount the votes, they demand, as they stand on the ground where god-knows-how-many innocents have been buried; all our people that we lost, all the burdens we have refused to carry,

no one has ever called out to count how many were taken and never seen again.

we want justice, they cry, the irony heavy in its circumstances;

wanting equity and honesty for the man whose father murdered millions; a man wretched in his father's absence; our voices have grown hoarse pleading for righteousness for our victims.

when will we get our *amen?

a hero, they proclaim with their blue and yellow banners. how dare they say that word and wave our flag as they stand on the bones of the defenseless, on the bones of the silenced, on the bones of their grandparents, on the bones of their relatives,

on the bones of our countrymen.

this is not a "thing" we can get over with. not a war we can just stop fighting. we have barely found our voices, and yet they want to kick the wind out of us once more; i refuse to submit to silence. refuse to let them win. i will scream until i'm hoarse and rebel until i'm sore.

because if not i, then who? if not now, then when?