We were raised in an age of persecution,
with words in our tongues, trapped
behind the barriers of our teeth.
From their cells within our gums
they pounded on the bars and peered
from between the spaces in the enamel.
Syllables managed to escape their manacles,
only to be pushed from between our lips
into a world filled to the brim with abrasion.
Those few brave enough to tunnel through
Were met with tire marks, shouts of the
1 % demanding to be recognized as a minority,
endless electronic diatribes, questions that disguise the
real questions answered by answers that say nothing at all.

They encountered the cries of animals, whom—
like themselves—had been imprisoned:
those seeking the pity of the masses,
the demands of a species whose needs have long since been fulfilled,
the impoverished pushed out of sight until only
their voices are amplified above the resounding din
with a single echo of thought
that reverberates across.

The collection of letters that have made their way
from the recesses of the niche from which
they sprung, through the
holdings pens of censorship, into the greater world.
They arrived, like fresh-pressed jeans
with lock picks still in their hands.
And all of us were annihilated.