Represent Yourself

Persons will tell you that I’m a grumpy cat, and that’s okay. These same persons will probably ache to give you stories upon stories of me being unworthy, but the thing is, what I’ve learned from interacting with bullies all my life, is that fire with fire only gets those who don’t suck up burnt. I don’t suck up and presently, I am a dormant dragon. Fire on vacation because what is the point of getting so worked up about things that aren’t even mine; but they get worked up for what… stressing over, about if you need it, then you can shout (thanks Skip Marley).

I mean what’s the point of infighting regardless of how it will benefit you? People are constantly negative, deteriorating with every breath, yet so eager to pull down who’s in front of them. I mean come on, wasn’t there enough of that during colonization? Are we so tainted by a history stolen that we can’t as Black people come together and see that the ‘crab inna barrel’ behaviour really is pointless?

Like maybe I am naïve because I am young, and maybe I harbor some hope for a better future and subconsciously ache for it in a society that is too sick to even die peacefully. Maybe I’m just a poet trying to spin the world through words it doesn’t know. Maybe I am just lonely and an easy target because I have no army or because I am different or because I think before I speak. Maybe I am too wholesome for the world’s monsters and maybe I am too shackled by my own morals to even try to fight down or speak lies about another person just because. Maybe that makes me stupid, and that’s okay. It’s funny how everyone in the sphere is exactly the same, but they will never see it that way.

I am constantly a target for the following reasons:
I am Black. I am Female. I am Disabled. I Survived.

Ergo racism hates me, patriarchy doesn’t hear me, ableism is but the smoke trying to suffocate my light and the closed minded vultures that circle only see me.

I am constantly surrounded by snipers who think I am an easy target, but know this, nothing you do will ever keep me down. I am a bubbling pot, a waiting volcano, a plotting menace. I am all those nightmarish tales before fairies were real. You have never experienced anything like the dust I can leave behind.

Thirty-seven down, fifteen to go…

Essay 37

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