it’s okay, it’s more
than alright, it should be
more in fact than a shout.
just don’t negate, put down
another’s cry because
little voices are still mighty
especially if they live it:
dirty secrets swept
under the rugs like filth
institutionalized instead
of putting in polite places
until recently and still
discounted as no thing
that’s the outward the see-able
internally, it’s only a bit of blood
in my veins, my strings
of heritage entwined
but my heart weeps
for the slaughtered
stolen, conversos of two
lands forced to conform
or spill forth, reddening fields
