[whispered, close mic] I’ve been told to be quiet so many times They mistook silence for peace But peace… Peace was never the absence of noise It was the presence of truth [pace increases] They say joy is naive But this joy? It’s earned. It marched through fire barefoot It kept dancing even when the floor cracked [slight musical lift — warm pads enter] This body — it’s not a battleground It’s not a brand It’s not your permission slip [hand claps begin, soft reverb — crowd begins to swell] This joy? It doesn’t apologize. It doesn’t shrink. It doesn’t need your “good girl” stamp This joy wears steel toe boots And sings like a Sunday sermon [energy rises, more conviction] I don’t laugh to make you comfortable I laugh because I lived And I’m still here Still moving Still glowing [beat starts slowly thumping, like a march] So if you see me in the streets — arms raised, hips swinging, smiling with all this light? Know this: [big pause — then fierce, clear delivery] I’m not happy. I’m holy. And this is my march. This is my joy. This is your invitation… or your warning. [DROP to silence] Welcome to the riot.
