We think we cried,
Our brains bleached blank.
We were already trying to forget
What we would live.
What we would give.
* * *
Beware the ides of March.
We recognized that something ran
Rampant as a rumor
Among our ranks.
Cases bleeding closer,
Like spillage in a napkin.
There is nothing more worrisome
Than a titan who believes itself
Separate from the world.
* * *
Graduation day.
We don't need a gown.
We don't need a stage.
We are walking beside our ancestors,
Their drums roar for us,
Their feet stomp at our life.
There is power in being robbed
& still choosing to dance.
Written by Amanda Gorman
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