Freedom Isn't What They Say It Is

I am eleven years old. I think freedom isn't what they say it is. 

I live in the land of the free. I am free 

in most ways. 

I can be a black belt. 

I can be a published poet. 

I can win money for my achievements. 

I can wear makeup. 

I can make friends. 

I can protest and argue for my rights. 

I can attend synagogue, and leave it too. 

I can cry, and I can laugh. 

I am free. But to be free means to have a say in your own freedom; to know 

just how free you truly are. 

I can't vote. 

I can't drive. 

I can't run for office. 

I can't choose where I go to public school. 

I can't choose who is mean to me, who is nice to me. 

I can't choose who doesn't care. 

I can't control how my body changes and fights and bleeds. 

I can't choose how, where, or to whom I was born. 

I am free. I am not free. Because being free means loving and living fully 

without fears, but I am fearful, 

and being free means having a voice in your own freedom 

without restrictions, but I do not, 

and being free means to turn to one another no matter their skin tone 

or disability or inner voice or brain or how they love or who they love 

or fearfulness 

or freedom 

and say, I love you. I care about you. I want to make the world better for you. 

So really, 

none of us are free until we choose to be.