I come from the fire

I come from the sea, the burning beat of my African drums

I come from me.

I come from chains, shackles, and beams

I come from whippings and hangings

I come from burning forests, I live on burning trees

I come from underground, I trod through the night

I come from barking beast, ready to devour on sight

I come from strong winds of water, blasting against my skull

I come from restaurant counter tops, I come from damaged souls

I come from a time where freedom was never free

I live in a time where freedom will never ring

I come from the King, who rests his feet upon me

I come from the back of the bus, where my comfort zone keeps me

I come from peaceful boycotts, and have come to reckless peace fights

I came from a place

A place in time where my ancestors fought for me to be free.

They fought for my education, my equality, and my voice.

They fought for peace.

Yet I still rest at the back of the bus, I still use these fists to carry out my aggression and anger, I use a foul tongue to curse the ones who birthed me, who nurtured me, who kept me sane, and made me whole.

I still sneak around at night trying to keep light on my feet in hopes of breaking free from something that was already given to me, I still complain about hardships and struggles of not being able to go where I want to go, or when I want to go forgetting that just a while ago I was forbidden to go.

I come from a fiery furnace

I come from a boiling pot of gasoline waiting to be lit.

I come from the burning beat of these African drums.

I come to be free.