
There’s a violence that we now wear,
in skin that carries the weight of othering.
Black, Brown, Latino, Queer, Female, Non-Binary—
we walk with echoes of a world that chafes at our edges,
in every step, every breath, every claim to space.
It’s everywhere, demanding a toll we pay in soul coins,
our hearts worn down by the drumbeat of “us” versus “them,”
the stories they write over our bodies,
the ways they hold tight to a white supremacy crafted
to choke, to strangle, to control.
Even on the outskirts of this, helplessness gnaws,
as who sits in the White House shapes the world,
reaches all shores, spills its anger across borders.
As a Caribbean Black queer soul, I feel this pain from here,
wondering at the weight my American siblings bear,
the violence they endure daily. I can’t cast the ballot myself,
but I call to those who can: brothers, sisters, siblings—vote.
Not just for yourselves, but with the courage of our ancestors,
who stood and rose, whose breath became fire,
scorching away myths of white supremacy,
carving rights from resistance,
daring to demand dignity,
facing down power and hatred
to give us the ground on which we all stand.
History echoes through us:
Ida B. Wells and her rallying cry against lynching,
Malcolm’s fierce call for liberation by any means,
Fannie Lou Hamer’s insistence on freedom without compromise,
a line of voices against which no chains can hold.
Our bodies hold these battles, these stories,
and your vote, our voice,
is a demand—
not just to exist, but to flourish,
to see justice become more than a dream,
to press forward until the bruises fade,
and a new story begins.
So my American friends, you must rise—
rise and vote for what’s right,
vote in a way that would make the ancestors proud,
turn the tide so we can begin healing yet again,
because change comes only when we unite,
when our voices stamp out complacency
and shatter the silence that feeds this violence.
Ian Royer © 2024
Art by James Hackett © 2024
All Rights Reserved
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