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The Protest

Fist raised.

I'm punching up in my weight class.

No gassing up, sucker-punched

But never reeling from what's stolen in the dark.

Never feeling what was done to my heart.

You see,

A raise of my fist leaves my chest exposed.

Playground antics I suppose

Says I chose to have my chest caved in

By the weight of your enthusiasm to play the game.

Them's the rules, I suppose.

However, we are not fools.

We chose to risk a pose rather than posing.

It speaks defiance.

An alliance of spirit, power, and fury.

SPF against the hate.

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