Let this page come out of me

I wonder if you’d want it when

You saw

What scrawled across the bleak surface

Of this white plane.

I’m a traveler, maybe, somewhat stationary

Traveler.

In relation to the people of this

World, I’m something of an

Atom.

In relation to the controversial

Swirlings of the racial divide,

The oceans, constant storms seem so distant

With a flash of lightening only in the night at

Distant intervals.

I don’t much know the strife,

Don’t much know the strife,

Of the oppressed

Except

By expectation.

A leaf on a tree of millions,

I would fall to be my own tree.

As a shaker’s grain of salt, I come out.

I would be the shaker.

I would be the body, but I, the ring finger,

Am what I would not be.

I would be oppressed.

Dare, I say, I am what I am.