The Quiet Rebels - Inaugration
i remember watching the screen flicker, the world held its breath in a crowded room, each eye a mirror of disbelief. the flags waved like palms, still, we felt the weight of thunder beneath the glinting surface of patriotism; a bone-deep shiver told us what we knew.
we sat on a crumbling couch, our spirits draped in denim and defiance, scrolling through feeds, seeing pixels of false promises, hollow chants echoing like ghosts in a land that forgot how to dream.
we wrote poems in the margins of fear, on pages stained with the ink of rage, as the sun rose over a nation that taught us to build walls, while we longed to carve doorways into hearts that still want to love.
he stood there, a king on a throne made of all our uncertainty, and we, the quiet rebels, the poets with our fingers poised, ready to rewrite the narrative— to paint the truth in colors that can’t be muted, to shout our histories until they drown out the noise of a world that doesn’t recognize our right to exist, to thrive, to sing.
we are not afraid. we are the ink stains, the whispers, the wild and the restless— and we’ll find a way to rise. because hope is louder than the silence of a crowd.
