Not a whisper.
Not signatures.
Alive.
Knees shaking—
still
standing.
Breath dragged in
when they demand choke.
Voice torn through
when silence would be safer.
They name it law
as boots hammer down.
They call it order
as children vanish.
Jefferson’s blade unsheathed:
their law
tattooed in welts,
our lungs condemned as evidence.
Look around.
The line bleeds already.
Defiance is fire on the tongue.
Defiance is breath
ripped back from smoke.
Defiance is knees
refusing the ground.
When they come—
faceless, nameless,
expecting us erased—
let them find a wall,
shoulder to shoulder,
unbroken.
And when the question comes—
what did we do—
let the answer burn simple:
We stood.
We spoke.
We did not kneel.
We defy—
unbroken.