I am so in love with learning —
what beautiful concepts illuminate our natural world
what skillful art reflects our inner growth
— on our campus on the isthmus
But I am so deeply shaken —
instances of hate and violence manifest in blatant cruelty
but also in the whispers, the whispers, the whispers
the “I’m-not-racist-buts”
the discomfort
the assumption of understanding divides that feel so great
— on this tiny strip of land betwixt two lakes…
we are packed together like sardines in a can
and you respond to difference with hate?
why do you get off on
hurting those whose throats are already choked up
whose eyes are already tired
have you ever really been tired before?
Growing up in the most racist county in America, I grew a thicker skin.
Today the skin is broken.
Something bubbled over
and burst out of me
Today
tears like a bullet
through layers of sweat and internalized oppression
of thousands of swallowed words and tears and bad moods
stereotypes — oh how i wish they were benign —
etched all over my skin like tattoos
sexualized reactions to my brown body
bolstered by “complimentary” notions of how I defy expectation
I don’t know what people see when they look at me
it is not me
it has never been me
they silenced us before we had the words to notice
that I looked different from my ivory skinned peers
before I was even a spark in my parents’ eyes
there was a conspiracy taking root
built up by holding us back
and down
and under
and behind
and dry
and so hungry
we were too precious to be squandered
too valuable to be left alone
too golden to not be threatening
I am like them
but I don’t like them
I love them
but I don’t like them
I don’t want to give them what they want
I am like them
but I don’t want to give them what they want
I don’t want them to buy and sell parts of me
I don’t want to fake an accent
tell you what caste I’m from like it’s my sun sign
I don’t want to be the only brown person in the yoga class
I keep forgetting when I’m supposed to be a “good sport”
I am too sensitive to live by the rules of this world
I am too poor not to
I have choices, but not many
today I understand why my parents wanted me to be “comfortable”
because when you have money, you can buy back the rights
stolen from you at birth
you can make choices about what worlds you want to live in
& that makes it okay
that makes it okay that you can never change your body
It’s my fucking body,
I didn’t choose it.
I have to live in it,
I have to be here
on this crowded isthmus,
shrouded in the fog
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