Bridges are meant to be crossed
Like t’s,
Not dotted like i’s,
Nor like lines on a map;
The borderlines that separate
You and I.
Bridges are built, burned,
Famed, scorned,
Named, claimed, renamed,
And more.
Like great concrete walls.
Except walls disconnect, separate.
Their only reconnection through a gate.
But gates are unfriendly,
With “work will make you free” in iron
Cast above their spindling frames.
Graffiti on the nearby walls surrounding,
With my family on the east side,
Yours on the west,
With no one the worst
Or best.
But bridges are friendly,
Like open arms, open hands,
Making family from different lands,
From different people of all makes,
All models,
Like cars,
Built for the same purpose:
For function and for luxury.
My culture is a function,
And so is yours.
My culture shows you how I am
Who I am
And why I am that way,
And so does yours.
My freedom is a luxury.
I was born here with my rights intact,
And you came here to get yours back.
Inalienable rights, undeniable rights,
Born with and carried by us from
The moment of conception,
Of birth,
Of great conscious Life.
My culture is my bridge to yours.
With no graffiti walls, no great iron gates,
No words of hate,
Just love, acceptance,
And open arms welcoming
You.