Mine is not your smartphone-age flamboyance.
Mine is not your modern 'here-today-gone-tomorrow' kind.
It lies not in my step,
But in the rhythm of my voice.
Today we celebrate a champion,
We celebrate a gladiator.
We celebrate a virtuous woman,
My food bank and my mother's daughter.
Your interests may be trash to someone else,
and vice versa.
That doesn't make you wrong or them right,
It came bearing gifts.
Gifts of destruction and death.
It came hauling notices.
Layoffs, suspensions and evictions.
A good man taught me to never put people in social standing categories. To accept others for who they are and to be kind to everyone.
Now I'm no saint, but I do my best.
A caring woman taught me to never use my privileges in life as a means to belittle people.
I'm no saint, but I'll hold on to that principle.
She's a gem,
And a certified geek.
I'm not you, and you'll never be me.
I advocate for causes that are dear to my heart.
See, I root for things that makes me happy.
I love 'wordsmithism', books, poetry, art,
Don't belittle me, get to know me first.
I'm no saint, but I know I have a good heart.
Don't look down on people, not even at their shoes.
I may have a small head but I'm not dull.
It began in the 1800s.
Pioneered by tactical barefoot warriors.
Shouldered by gallant gladiators.
Underequipped yet driven.
I had people blowing out my candle behind my back while declaring heaven and earth in my face.
I had people hollering they'll fight with me, for me but when the time came, all they did was whisper inaudible support.
I had people promising to stand in my corner, come what may but when shove came to push, there was only one hand. Mine.
I had people affirming that they got my back, all the way. Well, the last time I checked my back was up against a hard concrete wall.