I'll stopFeeling frustrated for that tight knot that I wear like a tieA manly hand on my shoulders and on my thighsYou wouldn't call them that if I were much smallerLike a child whose innocence was cut from coldPolsters, blankets, hugs and kisses from strangersPlace my sense of disconnect out in plain sightA five-year-old that grows into a twenty-fiveYou wouldn't call it that, ancestral learningLike a tie so strong that it feels like homeComeComeComeConcrete, wet crescentStay in my feetEqually in a restless danceA lighthouse in the distanceMakes me feel like there's a chanceBut it's always the lighthouse keeper that spots it firstAnd like a childI'm left with patronizing wordsAnd a world's entitlementI watched everyone get inEverything they could imagineHow come they know what they wantA wooden bench in a courtroomDoesn't make me feel calmMy early days misplacedMy early days misplacedAnd it's never to be spoken ofAnd I'm at war with a system that cannot serve like it shouldSo I'll stopFeeling frustrated for that tight knot that I wear like a tieI'm in love with the way I feelSo I think about itLike my family hand on my shoulders and on my tiesBut I'm notYou wouldn't call them that if I were much smallerBut I'm notBut I'm notBut I'm notWill you let me be forgotten?You shouldn't call them that© transcript Emily Beynon