The Iron Answer and Zero-sum Strike

(Kin Is a Collective Verb)

If they come for your people
and you call it “unfortunate,”
“complicated,”
“not my place,”
they have already counted you absent.

An attack is not a memo.
It does not RSVP.
It does not wait for your comfort
or your perfect vocabulary.

If they bruise the ones who taught you your name,
burn the stories that made you we,
erase the faces you recognize in mirrors-
that is not “over there.”

That is a fist through you.

Neutrality is not peace.
It is permission in a clean shirt.
Silence is not wisdom.
It is a nod, slow and obedient.

History does not ask
how polite you were.
It asks one thing, again and again:

Who stood when standing cost something?

Because your people are not an abstraction.
They are bone of your bone,
breath of your breath,
the living archive of how you arrived.

When they are hunted,
you are already on the list-
just lower priority,
just later.

So here it is-
the moment dropped at your feet
like iron on stone.

Not a metaphor.
A challenge.

They are under attack.
That means you are under attack.

What are you going to do about it?

Choose carefully.
The echo of this moment
will answer for you
long after your excuses are buried.

(Gauntlet with Teeth)

Strike one of mine, you strike at me.

That’s folk/kin law, that’s legacy.

I don’t forgive, I don’t let be -

I move like fire through family trees.

You think it’s them your anger found?

The shot you fired shook my ground.

You raised your hand? Then hear this sound -

every heartbeat’s a war-drum pound.

I don’t do calm, I don’t do peace.

I bite back hard, I don’t release.

Your name slides off my tongue like grease -

then burns like salt when vengeance feeds.

Come for my kin, you call my name.

No mask, no mercy, just the same.

I’m not your echo - I’m your flame.

What you gonna do with such shame?

(BATTLE CRY FOR THE UNBROKEN)

Raise your voice,  

raise your name,  

raise the fire that sleeps in your marrow-

because when they strike your people,  

they strike you,  

and you do not take that lying down.

Stand up.  

Square your spine.  

Let the world feel the weight of your footsteps.

We are not scattered.  

We are not silent.  

We are not prey.

Every blow against us  

is a drumbeat calling us forward,  

a spark thrown into dry grass,  

a dare hurled at our feet.

So answer it.  

Answer with thunder.  

Answer with teeth.  

Answer with the full force of a heart  

that refuses to break cleanly.

If you come for one of us,  

you answer to all of us.

This is our line.  

This is our roar.  

This is the moment the ground remembers our names.

What are you going to do about it?  

Everything.  

Every. Last. Thing.