Angela Abalo

Lift every voice they said, but sometimes it feels

Like we are just screaming into the void

The echoes of our struggles bouncing off walls

Unheard, ignored, overlooked, claiming I am just another angry lady,

Why should I beg to be heard, to be seen, to be involved,

Why does lifting my voice feel like a burden, like a weight?

Am I lifting weights in a workout

or am I just trying to get my words out

When I lift my voice I do not just

Want to shout for fear of being crushed

I do not just want to lift my voice

my hands are being pinned down

I do not just want to lift my voice

when my resume is put aside because name

I do not just want to lift my voice

when I am almost giving up

I want my voice to be a guiding light

Where hearts connect effortlessly

sharing in the beauty of love

I do not want to shout out anymore in anger or in pain

I want my voice to speak volumes

Like a Super Bowl artist, I want my voice to be a sweet memory

That lives on, a symbol of pure harmony.

Deep down we have a deeper yearning

Just like Martin Luther King has a dream, a vision, a desire

A longing to uplift our voices where love is unconditional

And where opportunities are equal despite your condition

Where humanity is not a dream but a reality

Because if not human who else do we want to be

For in the depths of our hearts and in the quietest of sighs

There is a voice being lifted.

In the words of Maya Angelou, “Still I rise”

We declare that our voices will no longer be used, bruised and abused

For that is not how divine royalty is treated

So when we lift our voices we not only shout for injustice

We shout out in pride for our black excellence

We shout for our ancestors who left legacies

and our new leaders who keep us shining

For our grace is like a crested crane, stunning in all the different shades

So we forever lift our voices

our anthem of hope

our sacred space.