Punching the Air

by Ibi Zoboi

She’s never seen me She only sees my paintings and drawings as if me and what I create are two different worlds

And we stepped onto the tipping scales of Lady Justice with her eyes blindfolded, peeking through slits because that rag is so fucking old worn-out, stretched thin, barely even there

because where I come from jail or death were the two options she handed to us because where he comes from the American Dream was the one option she handed to them So here we are, blind Lady Justice I see you, too

They believed those lies about me and made themselves a whole other boy in their minds and replaced me with him

And this door leads to a slave ship And maybe jailmaybe jail isis America

but somewhere in our souls we are both scratching at the walls yelling to the sky punching the air to let everyone and everything know that we are in here still alive

All because we were in the wrong place we were in the wrong skins we were in the wrong time we were in the wrong bodies we were in the wrong country we were in the wrong were in the wrong in the wrong the wrong wrong

All because they were in the right place they were in the right skins they were in the right time they were in the right bodies they were in the right country they were in the right were in the right in the right the right right

We were a mob a gang ghetto a pack of wolves animals thugs hoodlums men They were kids having fun home loved supported protected full of potential boys

They can’t lock down your mind, Amal— only if you let them Your mind is free Your thoughts are free Your creativity is free—