Riddle Three
Fort Jackson's sun in two thousand four,
Eighteen and marching, third door on the floor.
TA stamped on me, a private's name,
But I walked out, refusing the game.
My grandmother watched from the other side,
I felt her near when the world had lied.
Gas-lit eyes and gasoline rain,
Washington's secrets, shadows, and pain.
They covered her eyes, turned truth around,
While old ghosts circled, hungry and bound.
My ex-father's shame, a twisted tale,
But my body and soul are not for sale.
Call me Private Benjamin—no, not quite,
I left their ranks, I claimed my right.
I see through the haze, the tricks, the show,
My air, my space, my power to grow.
I'm done with the lies, the games, the theft,
I'm taking back all that I have left.
No chains, no price, no silent plea—
I claim my story. I claim me.