Exploring identity, politics, music, and the human experience.

Christopher Za’Mir

We the people - or so they said.
But they never meant me.
Not the skin that carries centuries,
not the pronouns they refuse to see,
not the heartbeat born from resistance.

They wrote freedom on parchment
while chaining our ancestors in fields.
They shouted liberty
while justice bled out in the streets.
And still...
we showed up.
Still...
we dreamed bigger than the laws allowed.

We, too, the people; we rise again,
not as shadows they tried to silence,
but as architects of a nation
they promised and never built.

I want a land where sirens don't spark fear,
where red and blue lights mean help is here-
not run.

I dream of schools teach the truth,
not sanitized lies in history books.
I dream of policies rooted in empathy,
leaders who listen before they legislate,
systems that see humanity
before they count statistics.

We the people - all of us this time.
The descendants of the stolen and the strong.
The hands that built empires they tried to keep us from.
The voices they feared would rise - and did.
Not erased.
Not contained.
But unleashed; the pulse that makes this nation move.

I want a Constitution rewritten
in the language of love and liberation,
a declaration that finally declares everyone free.

So hear me clearly:
we're not asking anymore;
we're demanding the future we were promised.
We are not begging to be seen;
we are the vision this country needs.

We the people - us too.
We the people - renewed.
Not the story they wrote without us,
but the chapter we're writing together.