My rage is small and quiet and hiding
She doesnt know how to be out loud
She is exhausted, sweated out
A child banished to the basement
She has been made to feel worth nothing

My rage doesn’t know how
to SHOUT SEETHE SMACK SOIL
and REND ROAR RIVER RISE
Become a nature force
Inevitable and true
A wind a fire a flood

I dream sometimes of the hard knives of history
pinning the politician and his henchpeople
right through the wrists
with their hands up don’t shoot
with their liquid assets and **** running down their shoes

Those thieves of childhoods
Those betrayers of hope
Brazen flim-flammers flapping their lips
Those hard-eyed liars who force us to swallow
the spoon without the medicine
They have stolen our medicine
and so unctuously tried to sell it back

I should not dream now
I should become the dream
I should fasten my boots
and walk outside together
with my sisters and brothers
I should follow the wisest children
I should make my hands and voice
the hard knives of history

I should rend roar rise like a river
Shout seethe smack and soil
Their white collars
With their own blubbering spit

I have a quiet rage
She is singeing me softly within
My dear anger ember
asking to be released though I don’t know how
so she may lash hands with her sisters and brothers
Become a nature force
Inevitable and true
A wind a fire a flood