American Sonnets for My Past and Future Assassin

Nate had always loved poetry. As a child, he would read the works of Langston Hughes and Maya Angelou over and over again, trying to understand the deep meanings behind their words. As he grew older, he began to explore different types of poetry, from the rhyming couplets of Shakespeare to the free verse of contemporary poets.

But it wasn't until he discovered Terrance Hayes' "American Sonnets for My Past and Future Assassin" that he truly fell in love with the power of words.

The collection of sonnets spoke to Nate in a way that no other poetry had before. They were raw, honest, and unapologetic. Hayes didn't shy away from the difficult topics of race, politics, and love. Instead, he tackled them head-on, using his words as weapons to fight against injustice.

Nate was inspired. He began writing his own poetry, drawing on his own experiences as a Black man in America. His words were angry and passionate, but also full of hope for a better future.

One night, Nate was performing at a poetry slam when he saw her. She was sitting in the front row, her eyes fixed on him as he recited his words. He couldn't take his eyes off of her either. There was something about the way she looked at him that made him feel seen, understood.

After the show, they talked for hours. Her name was Maya, and she was a fellow poet. They bonded over their shared love of Terrance Hayes and their desire to make a difference in the world with their words.

Over the next few months, Nate and Maya collaborated on a poetry project that they hoped would change the way people thought about race and privilege. They called it "You Better Be Lightning," a phrase they borrowed from one of Hayes' sonnets.

The project was a series of spoken word performances that explored the complexities of race relations in America. They talked about police brutality, white privilege, and the Black Lives Matter movement. Their words were powerful, and people listened.

Their performances were a hit, and they were invited to speak at universities, community centers, and even on television. Nate and Maya became known as the "Lightning Poets," a name that stuck after their first performance of "You Better Be Lightning."

But as their fame grew, so did the pressure. Nate began to feel like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. He felt like he had to be the voice of his people, the one to speak out against injustice at every opportunity.

Maya tried to reassure him, but it was hard. The more he spoke out, the more backlash he faced. He received hate mail and death threats. Some people accused him of being a reverse racist or trying to start a race war.

Nate felt like he was drowning in a sea of anger and hatred. He wanted to give up, to stop fighting. But then he would think about the sonnets that had inspired him in the first place. He would remember the words of Terrance Hayes:

"I lock you in an American sonnet that is part prison,

Part panic closet, a little room in a house set aflame."

Nate knew that he couldn't give up, that his words were too important. He had to keep fighting, keep speaking out. He had to be the lightning.

One night, after a particularly difficult performance, Maya took him outside. They stood on the sidewalk, watching the cars go by. The streetlights flickered overhead, casting shadows on the pavement.

"I know it's hard," Maya said, taking his hand. "But you better be lightning, Nate. You can't let them put out your fire."

Nate looked at her, and for a moment, he saw the light in her eyes