The Revolution Will Not Be Branded

By Breckyn Forcey

They say
“This is just the way things are.”
But “things”
were designed
by hands with power
and blueprints soaked in bias.

They tell us
to keep calm,
shop small,
think big,
smile for the algorithm
and leave the real work
to the experts in pressed suits
who have never
walked home in the dark
with keys between their fingers
and fear in their chest.

They tell us
"change takes time"
but somehow
bullets
don’t.

I walk through a city
Built on stolen names
Where wealth floats
Like a parade balloon
And hunger
Waits in food bank lines
Wrapped around cathedrals.

They gentrify grief
and sell it back
as “aesthetic.”

Put “mental health”
on a mug
but don’t fund
a single clinic.

They love
a good slogan
but not
the people who bleed under it.

They put rainbows
on logos
every June
and lock trans kids
out of healthcare
every July.

They say:
“Thoughts and prayers.”
I say:
Keep your prayers.
We need policies.

Because faith
without action
is just a brand deal
with better lighting.

The revolution
will not be a TikTok trend.
It will not wear contour
or come with a curated playlist.
It will sound like
a mother
screaming in front of City Hall
with eviction paper in one hand
and her baby’s bottle in the other.

It will sound like
a student
whose rent just tripled
reading Marx
on a cracked iPhone
and realizing
he’s not lazy

 he’s exploited.

This country
wants our resilience
but not our rage.
Wants our votes
but not our voices.
Wants our labor
but not our lives.

And still,
we rise
in sneakers with holes
and backpacks full of poems.
We rise
in wheelchairs
and welfare lines.
We rise
holding signs
the media won’t show.

We rise
in classrooms
where teachers
write hope in dry-erase marker
on boards too cracked
to erase.

We rise
in kitchens
where undocumented hands
feed entire cities
and go hungry themselves.

We rise
even when they call us radical
for wanting water
without poison,
air
without profit margins,
and love
without legislation.

We rise
because rising
is the only thing
they haven’t taxed yet.

So don’t tell me
to be patient.
Don’t tell me
it’s complicated.
Don’t tell me
we’re asking for too much
when CEOs make
thousands
per hour
while nurses
beg for gloves.

This world
was not broken
it was built this way.

But we are builders too.
Of better.
Of braver.
Of after.

So light the match.
Open your throat.
Lift your fists.
Lift your neighbors.
Lift the curtain
they’ve drawn over justice
and call it what it is:
a lie.

Because we are not
what they say we are.
We are not
weak.
We are not
divided.
We are not
defeated.

We are
the future
they can’t algorithm out.
We are
the democracy
they can’t outsource.
We are
the revolution
that will not
be branded.

And we
are already
here.