“Is this my Voice?”

A small whisper in the dark,

“Is this my Voice?”

A spider has a louder bark;

“Is this my Pass?”

To slip in with the group,

To see my head lower and shoulders stoop;

“Is this my Exit?”

To leave this place and never return,

“Is this my Exit?”

From here, I do adjourn;

No.

That can’t be it.

That can’t be all.

It doesn’t fit,

I will not crawl;

“What is my Voice?”

A chance to be heard,

“What is my Voice?”

Clear and not slurred;

“What is my Pass?”

To see myself as another,

To forsake my blood brother;

“What is my Exit?”

A course of last resort,

An impossible plan, it makes me snort;

“Where is my Voice?”

Never here, always there,

“Where is my Voice?”

A look of fear, a stoic glare;

“Where is my Pass?”

My brown skin, my last name,

To my chagrin, my eternal shame;

“Where is my Exit?”

Off to the side, stage right?

It’s gone now, out of sight;

“How do I find my Voice?”

Open your mouth and talk with your soul,

It finds you, makes you whole;

“How do I find my Pass?”

Look around you and become one of them,

See your culture and condemn;

“How do I find my Exit?”

Pick up your stake and go home,

Hit the road and forever roam;

“This is my Exit,”

I see, but cannot cross,

Forgotten, and long lost;

“This is my Pass,”

It blends out and in,

“This is my Voice,”

I do not recognize my own kin;

“This is my Voice.”

It is loud and proud,

“This is my Voice.”

I will not be cowed.