I did not know that my years of silence,
discomfort in my own voice
and my own skin
was only a slow, steady and building revolution
a volcano rumbling, a purr not quite a roar in the back of a Lioness throat
It was not complacency
it was not solely out of fear
I was simply waiting for my cue
waiting for the megaphone
to be amplified in my lungs
this is not just a voice
this is on earth as it is in heaven
this is burning bush stop and listen
this is a pen,
in the hands of the author of everything
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