OverTheRainbow

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. 

in the halls, we lean against the bulletin boards

and whisper of the latest news, last night's breaking, articles snagged

in the moments before leaving for school. lots of adults

think we are too young to understand

i wore brightly patterned pajama pants today

because it was blue-and-gray-go-wolves spirit week at school and

they fit the whole cartoonish hearts theme. you

wore black sweatpants and your favorite blink-182 shirt,

five years spent practicing, learning, building community around myself, so beautiful

here on the mats, ponytail swinging, laughter,

saturdays from nine to ten-thirty, then eight to ten-thirty,

it's cold

the mornings freeze our words to our lips as we pore

over homework, plastic boxes of brightly dyed sugar cereal

waiting for february. it's gray

we haven't gone out for recess in forever, summer sun