• Vol. 08
  • Chapter 02
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Holding Up Mirrors

Yesterday falls to my feet
like forgotten ink.
Today is a paper airplane
in my chest,
on the verge of taking flight—
Tomorrow hides itself,
maneuvers like a ghost behind trees.

The news becomes a blindfold.
I wear it like a hat,
one size too big,
until I grow into the knowledge
I know not yet how to navigate.
I hold truth in my hands,
hold signs up as mirrors,
refuse to be blind to injustice.