A home that oftentimes feels ajeno.
To lose a pillar,
The type that allows for a sturdy grip against this incessant wind,
To lose a pillar in a crumbling home,
Is to wonder if this home is worth fighting for.
I grew up ignorant to the fact that the women around me were extraordinary.
I grew up ignorant to the fact that women in general had to fight to be extraordinary.
I grew up ignorant.
Because there were those,
that fought before me,
Who made their abnormality the norm.
They rose to the challenges of their times,
with hopeful visions of the future.
And a tenacity that makes even the strongest fascists tremble,
Time and time again,
That Notorious Gangster
The one we knew as RBG,
Rose a million times,
And was steadfast and prepared,
to rise a million more.
She chose us,
Without knowing our background,
Or the tint of our skin,
She chose us.
She chose the tenacity of our voices,
Knowing fully well,
we were bred,
from the same stardust of her own.
She chose us.
And I want to choose her legacy.
I want to believe there are millions of us out there,
Ready to carry on,
The unrelenting truth,
of her purpose.
I want to believe this crumbling home,
The one that sterilizes my women,
Cages my children,
And beats my men,
I want to believe,
it believes in me too.
On some days,
The molasses tempo of this uphill battle,
Impregnates my sense and chooses for me.
It chooses to lull out the melody of our unison.
It chooses to sketch out the empathy of our glances.
Apathy beckons to be important.
But most days,
All it takes,
is the extended hand of the other,
To wonder, and feel, and know,
That our RBG,
never worked alone.
She knew the torch she carried.
She knew it was not her own.
She knew the power,
And never would be,
She knew of those of us,
That that one day would grow,
To be champions of her legacy;
With an ever-burning flame,
that would lead us all,
To a new fortified home.