Do I assume

I woke up before the train came

remembering all the moments

or one in particular

when self advocacy was lost on my lips


dripped down my throat to be

swallowed with the years,

the lifetimes of

living in the shadows, silent.


It was there, too,

as a student being told to

face a standing group of

classmates and teachers

and speak from my heart.


Well, I didn’t. I couldn’t.

And what if I had screamed like

I want to now.

Did you? Could you?


Am I used up on

you.


Do I assume you don’t see me,

or

do I never claim myself in front of you.

I am Mixed, poetryMegan Jones