They told me to be quiet
be seen not heard
have no voice.


They rage with guns.
Frothing, angry
about things 
they can’t control.
But they control me.
I must be careful
living, breathing, moving.
 
A bell jar life
stifling heat
all the heat
searing my soul.

I have a soul
not under their control.
I have a soul
mine.

Why are they so angry?
Are they the devil?
 
Hatred glazes their eyes
for everything/one different.
 
And I am but one.