Punching the Air

by Ibi Zoboi

It’s wild how our minds can play tricks on us like that

He paints in words and voices, rhymes and rhythm And every whisper, every conversation beats a drum in my mind at full blast

But I’m no square peg More like a round world to myself being forced into so many boxes

will break things will ruin things will make things ugly just by us being there

This cell is a tomb I left my notebook up there I left my pencil up there Down here in the dungeon of my mind I write anyway I draw anyway The pen and pencil are my thoughts and memories The paper is my soul

And maybe there are small cracks in our walls and we start to see a sliver of light shine through in each other

I was I was being honest I was telling the truth No one had ever given me a whole wall for a canvas to tell my truth