I wanna a revolution poem.

I wanna hear a poem with words
that scream so loud the paper aches,
a poem that raises a black-inked fist
and stamps until the street shakes.

I wanna hear a poem scribbled in
class between blue lines,
I wanna hear a poem that calls out
the white lies.

I wanna taste that poem,
I wanna taste cold air on cracked lips
I wanna taste freedom on fingertips
I wanna taste the beginning of
tyranny’s apocalypse--

That’s the poem that I want,
that’s the poem that I need,
that’s the poem that will strike the world aflame,
that will sow the seed.

That’s the poem that’s gonna swallow the sun,
that’s the poem that won’t stop marching
even if their battles aren’t won.

I wanna hear a poem
of metaphors’ chants
about inequality and power plants,
I wanna hear a poem
of hyperboles with hearts exploding
as they watch the opposition corroding,
I wanna hear a poem
of similes smiling like blue skies,
a poem of newfound strength
and war cries--

I wanna hear that poem,
I wanna taste that poem,
I wanna feel that poem.

I wanna feel the spirit race
through the crowd,
I wanna feel the yells
of the people as they turn around,
I wanna feel the anger,
bursting red and wild,
I wanna feel the unity
in the minds of the riled,
I wanna feel the pulse
of their heartbeats,
I wanna feel the call
echo in the streets
as it repeats.

I need to hear that poem,
I need to taste that poem,
I need to feel that poem--
I need that revolution poem.