Work Text:
I had a dream that began in the classroom.
I had a dream — etched beneath fluorescent light and graphite-stained hands,
Where silent battles wage in halls that echo years of whispered hate,
A plea beneath the laughter and the tears of youth who search for place,
Where bullying gathers like storm clouds, darkening what childhood should have been;
Yet still, a spark survived — the same spark generations fought to keep alive.
That spark survived a country raised on contradiction—
Where hoods once burned crosses into history’s memory.
Their echoes still walk our streets in subtler forms,
Hiding in policies,
In closed doors labeled “procedure,”
In who gets believed
And whom gets buried beneath paperwork,
learning how to stay quiet to survive—
The smoke from the burns lingered long enough to damage their lungs.
Racism passed down like a family heirloom; no one ever questioned the keeping.
We survived centuries of fists and flags,
history smoldering like a lit cigar—waved
proudly by bloody hands,
fed by orange fire,
until the smoke choked the room.
Dr. King stood tall on marble steps,
his voice a flame against the peak of day:
“I have a dream,”
He called— a promise carved in freedom’s sacred creed:
That all people born equal, bound by life, by liberty, by joy to seek.
Yet still, our cities grieve and ache,
with the blood on their hands,
With knees on necks.
Their echoes filled with chants for justice—
A country shaken awake by the breathless cries of victims everywhere,
The crowds demanding truth beneath the banners of “Black Lives Matter.”
The dream did not end in the streets—
it carried itself into the hands of the young.
In classrooms filled with fractured lives, where insecurities collide,
A chorus rises — voices young, restless, determined, brave — demanding change through heart and mind;
They march beneath banners woven tight with justice’s enduring thread,
Fueled not by hatred but with hope—their courage bridges chasms deep.
I stand in those same corridors,
carrying scars of names like knives.
Injustice grinds its teeth while children weep; children learn silence too young.
Yet from every wound, a new resolve grows.
I stand amid this storm of strife and grace,
Aware identity is born through pain;
Though histories bind us in their cold embrace,
Our footsteps carve tomorrow's hopeful lane.
I dream of days when children may open books without a fear,
When mental health is held as treasure, as vital as the air they breathe;
A world where silence breaks to song — a community that listens close,
Where empathy replaces judgment’s cold, and teachers heal with patient hands.
But shadows linger still: discrimination’s sting and hatred’s scars remain—
The cycle spins; betrayal cuts; injustice clenches weary hands each dawn;
Yet from these ashes rise new dreams forged in fire of fierce desire—
To claim the future, bright and fair, for every girl and boy within these walls.
I stand here now, a witness to both pain and strength—
Aware that beauty blooms in struggle; identity is forged through strife;
Inquietude and perseverance blend—a dance of heartbreak married hope—
For histories we did not write do not dictate our waking paths.
What comes next will not be pretty nor perfect—but it will be ours to answer for.
I honor kings whose echoes fill my soul;
not crowned in gold,
but burdened with truth,
whose power was never rule,
only responsibility.
Their dream endures—a flame kept alive—
Within these walls where futures are made whole.
With every step I choose to take toward unity’s unfolding light,
I carry their voices within the soul’s refrain.
Though hard times press like weighty chains upon the fragile heart,
The dream persists — the dream survives—
in classrooms where new stories begin.