I had a dream that
I was flying over NYC,
eye-level with lady liberty.
Glitter oozing from my feet,
fueling every leap as I avoid
the shackling Hand of the far
from indigenous. I imagine Her
mouth curling as my pirouettes
create a shower of liberation.
But as I approach, my feet become
heavier than wet sand. Like the King,
gripped and coerced back to reality.
Mistaking a lack of humility
for freedom and expression.
This poem was first published online and in print by Star 82 Review.
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