I come from a city 
where our license plates state
no taxation 
without 
representation.
Yet over seven hundred thousand 
have none, no statehood
no voice in government,
only the voices we use 
to scream from rooftop bars
on U Street, the Fort Reno Hill,
the Cathedral gargoyles and gothic
spires, the playground slides,
the Dupont streets during Pride,
dancing up and down Fourteenth,
we move to the groove funk beat 
of go-go on H Street,
twirling my mom 
until she’s dizzy.

I come from a city 
where the leaders 
care more about creating laws 
than creating community spaces,
a city that neglects newborns 
and instead nurtures new legislation,
A city with more lawyers per capita
than liveable housing on the Capitol,
a city that values politics 
over its people
because the people 
were never really meant to live here anyway,


Back when America 
was just the butchering
of an Italian name, 
people were only 
brought here to build 
white marble buildings, 
to build until we bled
and then wash our spilt blood.
Nothing’s changed–– 
we still powerwash
office buildings 
although we have no power,
still sweep and vacuum mega-mansions,
though now we are dancing 
salsa and bachata,
swinging our hips as we clean
and commodify our bodies.

I come from a city 
where our streets are organized 
in a grid of all the letters 
in the alphabet except for “J” 
because our city planner 
held a grudge against 
Chief Justice John Jay––
We got petty arguments pillared
 into our architecture–– 
but what’s new?
Justice is still treated like a plaything.

I come from a city
of frat boys turned senate staffer,
of packs of runners 
with five-inch inseam shorts
striding next to packs of rats
the size of baseball sluggers.
Insurrection and smog cannot stop 
them from pushing 
sub-six minute miles 
on cobblestone streets.

I come from a city 
without a metro stop in Georgetown
because city planners were concerned
that public transit meant 
easy access to a posh place
for the people who were too poor 
to afford million dollar townhomes. 

I come from a city 
where we keep documents in cages,
the Declaration of Independence 
pressure-controlled and temperature-regulated.
I come from a city where 
“We, the People”
freeze under bridges 
and get pushed out the Southeast 
homes now barred 
under lock and key,
in the name of justice and peace.
If you tried to measure our grief,
your hands would come up empty
our sadness too slippery.

So consider this my plea
for an apology issued 
to the people of D.C.
the people that come from my city.
Because until we have statehood
we’ll keep stomping our feet,
dance up and down Fourteenth,
move to the groove funk beat
of go-go on H Street,
beat our hearts to the same melody
of metro at rush hour
and Malcolm X Park drum circles,

Let our bodies move in ways
they were never meant to.
Let us weave and wish and wander,
Let us wave and wring ourselves free,
Let us celebrate D.C., this District
We come from, 
we all come and go from
this city, this city, this city,
this city that belongs to you
and to me.