Stand up.
You are ready.
You are brave.
Strong.

Stand up.
Ignore the stares
that bore into your skin
like burning iron
as the thin fabrics
on your clothes rustle,
warning you
of the dangers ahead.

Feet firm on ground,
shoulders back,
eyes ahead.

A single ray of sun beams
through one musty window,
showering you with light.
It is your own personal spotlight,
and it wills you to go on.

So you stand.
Strong.
Brave.
Free.
Free as the soil,
free as rivers that
snake through the wild.
Doing your obligation to
the stars and stripes,
as you stand there,
a peak
bordered by deep valleys.

They stare at you,
disbelief claiming their faces
as you lock eyes
with each and every one of them.





You, the tattered worker.
You, the one with ripped garments,
You, standing up in front of wealthy,
how dare you?

But the people’s expressions
gradually return to normal
as they hear,
as they truly listen
to you clear your throat,
and begin.

You start pouring words into cups, and they eagerly drink them up
and start to understand,
to nod their heads.

As you speak,
they can see the gleam of blue,
the sparkle of red in your eyes.

And you gain their respect,
for they like it,
they like what you are saying.

They forget that you are poor,
from way out in Nowhere.
They forget your race, your color.

All they care about is you,
saying oath to the
stars and stripes.