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The Uplift

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I’m,
In class
And for some reason
I can’t seem to…
No never mind.

So,
I’m in class
And I want to…
Well, you know
I want to…
I really really really
Would like to,
You know…

Ok,
So I want to say something,
But
I can’t.
And when I do
I end up
Saying something weird
Something that relates but then it doesn’t
But somehow it kind of does…
You get it?
Ok, exactly.
So I, end up saying
Something that
Wasn’t my original thought.
I end up spillin’ a lie,
Or maybe not a lie but just
not the truth,
‘cause the truth
Is, I’m just afraid.


Yeah, I’m afraid,
And even though
Outside room 215 I’m loud,
In here it’s like my tongue is under
Pressure,
It’s under a colllapsin’ bridge,
Holdin’ its blanket close.
Askin’ for change,
Change that can break the chain tyin’ it together, not letting it breathe,
Not letting it spit what its got.

I mean, before this class,
Like in freshman year,

I had her,
Same teacher

Seen me grow,
Seen me throw
But not throw like a ball or anything
But throw, you know
Words.
Words onto my paper
Words fillin’ the air ‘cause then,
I would speak out.

Sophomore year,
New teacher
But, still- I would rise.
My hand would rise
Into the air almost high fiving god,
Or maybe not exactly him but one of his angels,
Maybe Angela or Miguel,
Because well… God’s too far up in heaven.

Ok, sorry
That’s not the point,
You see,
I want my hand to be lifted,
I want the tip of my fingers to feel…
To feel the vibe of the room
I want my hand to be motivated
So that
My lips part in half
And maybe spit some of my knowledge off,
Or maybe so that I don’t spit but act,
Act like I know.
I’ll fake it till I make it.
But I,
Want my vocal chords to work right
When I’m,
In class.
I want my tongue to,
Go crazy
Not lazy
I want it to be
Speakin’ my mind,
Speakin’ my heart.
Speakin’ me.

But, I
Can’t ever raise it
In the air, or even mid air.

It doesn’t happen.

I’m in the front row
Yet,
I can’t lift a finger
Not even if I was doing the ET thing,
You know?
But, right now
I just might, participate.
Maybe.
Not sure, but maybe.
I’ll lift my hand.
And I’ll say it was a reflex!
But I,
Know it wasn’t.


So for now, I’ll be,
Sandra…waiting to be uplifted,
Waiting for my hand to be uplifted
Uplifted by those who
Understand,
My struggle.
The feelin’ of feeling empty
Of feeling watched.
The thought of being right
Of being wrong,
It
Haunts me.
But I,

I want to though,
I really do
Want to raise my hand
And,
Maybe…
Say something.





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