Blank ovals

You seem to think
I want a vote
a voice
a choice
a brain behind my grin
but all I want are blank ovals 
and a sharpie to fill them in.

I'd color each
in orderly lines
like soldiers
they smolder
a fire tinged vapor
but it won't burn away all my blank ovals
or the sharpie marks bleeding into the paper.

I press down
my sharpie
inky blood
deep grudge
carved into history
these blank blank ovals
are screaming to be touched by me.

If the world is
blank ovals
yes or
no or
something in between
some ovals are obvious
but some remain to be seen.

I mark in
my plain ovals
names are 
the same to me
mixed in a big stew
but if society let me be free
I'd fill in an oval for you