Elizabeth Can’t Know What She Started In Me That Day: Revolutionary Blogging Poem

that day
dressed in red
can’t know
what she started
that day
in me.

The fire
she lit
was not because
of praise
for that day,
nor the fire
of past time,
which were last time
lit by others,
but because
I saw,
that day,
my own potential,
my own abilities,
my own
of hope.

She stood,
cold and wind-swept,
that day,
on steps
others had built.
I heard,
and stood
that day,
and from that day,
on words
she’d written.

I claimed,
that day,
for myself,
the knowledge
and ability
that I could climb
those stairs
as well.

That day,
in her mind,
was not about me,
or my people,
or my ilk.
But for me,
that day
was the start
of a new day
and a new way
of being
that I claimed
for me.


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