#the words from a straight cis man never cease to amaze me

[lucius-the-sinful]

me: gortash is so greasy

my partner: at least he comes prelubricated then

[slingsendarrows]

To His Coy Master

“I have often reflected on upon the new vistas that reading opened to me. I knew right there in prison that reading had changed the course of my life. As I see it today, the ability to read awoke inside me some long dormant craving to be mentally alive…My homemade education gave me, with every additional book I read, a little bit more sensitivity to the deafness, dumbness, and blindness that was afflicting the black race in America.” — Malcolm X “The Autobiography of Malcolm X”

Photo by Will Small

It never ceases to amaze the length, and breadth white people will go to willfully deny history in as much as it tells them the truth about themselves. I don’t blame them. It is a bitter pill to swallow owning up as a member of a people that has wreaked such havoc and extended so much unmitigated violence. Your domination in pursuit of betterment for your people and racial superiority was at the unquantifiable expense of others.

Now, before we get bogged down in the mire of wilfully confusing terms, let me resentfully explain what I mean by the words I am using. I say resentfully because expounding upon the injustices heaped upon my people requires I justify my position and take care not to offend the sensibilities of those I am addressing. It is dormant trauma indicative of the master/slave dichotomy I still have yet to shed. For it is only the oppressor that necessitates the oppressed exercise restraint and caution in stating and expressing his grievances, however vile and repulsive, adjusting for nuances and individual circumstances as if his subjugation wasn’t abrupt, violent, and complete. What is the virtue of incremental progress if the oppressor committed the original sin with absolute expediency? But, I digress.

“White people” or “white men,” refers to the collective white man, woman, and child as befits the ideologies of white supremacy, meaning those originating from Europe and the inheritors of their ancestors’ misdeeds. I will not deign to account for individual acts or attitudes of “good” white people because it is irrelevant. It is a tactic the oppressor uses to detract from the larger truth about himself.

Also, in speaking collectively, I will use the masculine pronouns, reflexive and otherwise, in an umbrella fashion similar to holy writ, signifying patriarchy as the apex of privilege and tyranny. Occasionally, I may address collective “white people” as women and men, specifically. “Master” is not restricted to those who owned slaves in actuality but those who propagated ideas of white superiority and black subjection.

Finally, and for what I hope will be the last time, privilege is a Russian doll ladder in that some have more than others in the broader context of the hierarchical structure as well as within each rung. Privilege is the exemption from specific experiences due to the inherent characteristics of race, ability, sexuality, gender identity, sex, socioeconomic status, etc. I have privilege within my rung as educated, able-bodied, cis-gender, and heterosexual. I shall leave it there.

I know you are, but what am I?

There are things you can’t unsee. I can neither unsee injustice nor abide civility for civility’s sake. Living as a black woman person is a burden, but one I am learning to carry with pride. You live in the depths of a valley with a clear perspective of the surrounding landscape. I look about me these days, and I yearn to be free. Natural freedom, not granted, but inborn and awakened through the conscious effort. Freedom rising from truth and understanding, painful though it may be. But master, I must tell you the truth about yourself, for I see now, as Malcolm X stated, you love yourself so much you’re often surprised to discover we do not share your “vainglorious self-opinion.”

Bettmann Archives/Getty Images

The cyclical nature of oppression angers me: outcries and marches, cosmetic salves for change, and disingenuous support that lasts just long enough for us to return to business, as usual. I don’t want to mince words anymore. It no longer serves to be palatable. You must swallow whole my incredulous raging despair and dubious hope for change. You will taste every unpleasant bite as I tell you the unflavored truth about yourself. I will not be distracted by dog-whistle racist dismissals of reverse-racism and black supremacy. Pipe down! You know I do not have the power to alter a fraction of your daily existence fundamentally.

For all your talk of progress, history shows very little of significance and import has materially changed. Individual achievement is pointless if institutionalized racism persists, unimpeded since the advent of colonial conquest when you left your lands to “discover” ours. It matters little that some of us make it if most of us continue to suffer the same injustices bereft of reprieve through education, wealth, and status. In short, your surface efforts at woke-ness and allyship are of little use if, in your white homes and white spaces, you propagate or remain silent in the face of racist sentiments and ideologies.

I reason real change calls for radical action. The how eludes me. Real change requires rooting out the problem in its entirety, a problem so deeply ingrained and pervasive it infects every facet of our daily existence. It is institutionalized. But our subjugation was so final we forgot our names. We have been in the wilderness far too long, thirsting for understanding and starving for identity. You hope we never figure out our freedom was never a matter for your consent.

In the midst of my hungering, I have awakened to two fundamental realizations: 1) we are and have only ever been as free as you have allowed us to be, 2) truth comes through knowledge of self, and knowledge of self comes through self-education.

It’s been a long, long time coming, but I know change is gonna come.

During moments of considerable racial unrest, you remind us to be grateful for the crumbs that fall from your feasting tables and make it into our mouths. With each protesting hamster-wheel cycle for change, you erroneously juxtapose our grievances against your apparent signs of progress, as if the two are analogous. You caution against violent reactions when your institutions murder us, and you selectively misquote our advocates out of context to suit your purposes and invalidate our rage. The conversation inevitably becomes about how we are not decent people, and our behavior courted death; therefore, we deserve to die. There is no need to mourn, much less to protest. Still, during our tear-gassed and rubber-bulleted peaceful protestations, you implore us, once again, to be patient. Someday we’ll all be free. Incrementalism over expediency!

Photo by Charles Moore

You ask us to remember Abraham Lincoln and his hundreds of thousands of Union soldiers. Do we not recall the numerous, albeit contradictory, supreme court decisions that have brought us thus far? Lyndon B. Johnson and his predecessors awarded us civil rights, benefitting the electorate with the sacrifice of black bodies. The matter of reparations is a non-starter — sins of the father, and all that; it’s in the past. See our constitutional amendments, white abolitionists, James Meredith, northern white liberalism, and lest we forget, the progressive black achievement permitted in your industries and society.

But the fact that we’re still witnessing black firsts 400 years later is not a sign of progress; it is the opposite.

Our schools teach the efforts and white generosity of Abraham Lincoln liberated black people in America. However, a cursory glance at your records will show this is factually incorrect. I am tired of being reminded to pay homage to the “Great Emancipator,” whom we remember, in large part, due to this astounding act of condescending deference. Master Lincoln is an excellent example of your self-conceit that our freedom is yours to grant or deny. And to add insult to injury, you congratulate yourselves for it. The overarching white supremacist belief you can deign to give us freedom is a glaring reminder we are only as free as you enable us to be. Your love for this lie is so profound; you pull it out each time issues of race arise. But Lincoln, a white man, freed you! He might have been black too.

So let’s set the record straight.

Lincoln did not free slaves out of moral imperative but political expediency. A cursory study of his papers and thinking at the time show he was willing to maintain slavery if it meant keeping the Union intact because “a house divided against itself cannot stand.”

Before the Missouri Compromise of 1820, a carefully maintained 1:1 ratio determined the slavery status of newly admitted states. This balancing act was codified when Maine and Missouri sought admittance; the former was free, and the latter legally permit slavery. The law also prohibited slavery north of the Mason-Dixon line.

At the onset of the Civil War, Missouri demographically split between confederate and union allies. In 1861, witnessing Missouri’s descent into chaos, Union Major Generals Fremont and Hunter issued emancipation proclamations calling for the execution of those found guilty of taking up arms against Union and the confiscation of their property, including freeing their slaves. Shortly after that, Lincoln fired the generals and annulled the proclamation. He issued a Second Confiscation Act in July 1862, allowing for the confiscation of slaves owned by the rebels, freeing them at the discretion of the court.

District of Columbia. Company E, 4th U.S. Colored Infantry, at Fort Lincoln

Slaves were commodities of considerable economic value. Slaves were mortgaged collateral and settled debts. Losing slaves would result in a substantial financial loss for southern masters. The Union knew that, so they exploited it. Freeing slaves robed the Confederacy of its free and disposable labor, eliminating the possibility of slaves fighting against the Union army at the behest of their rebel masters. Lincoln did not issue the Proclamation of 1863 because he thought black people were inherently equal and deserving of justice under the law. Asked about his decision-making process, he stated, “…if I could save the Union without freeing any slave, I would do it, and if I could save it by freeing all the slaves, I would do it; and if I could save it by freeing some and leaving others alone, I would also do that…” The Civil War did not end slavery in acknowledgment of black equality. Slave emancipation crippled the Confederate economies and, in so doing, weakened the southern rebellion. Emancipation was a means to an end.

Lincoln could not conceive of a nation with black people as equal if not, primary stakeholders. Nevermind their backs built the wealth of the country. Now that the problematic part of nation-building over, he could simply return them from whence they came and be done with it. He thought it better to return black Americans to Africa and failing that, create a whole separate nation unto themselves.

Reportedly the only known photo of a black American Union soldier and his family. (Library of Congress)

In 1854, before the Civil War, Lincoln stated, at a speech in Illinois, his “…first impulse would be to free all the slaves, and send them back to Liberia.” It was the only foreseeable solution to the race issue. He considered the coal-mining prospects of the Chiriqui region in modern-day Panama an option for deportation and resettlement. Still, the idea met fierce abolitionist opposition when he tested it on a sample slave population in Delaware. He supported a congressional bill that would “…aid in the colonization and settlement of such free persons of African descent […] as may desire to emigrate to the Republic of Haiti or Liberia or such other country beyond the limits of the United States as the President may determine.” After signing the Second Confiscation Act, in August 1862, Lincoln invited a delegation of five prominent black men to the White House to clarify that white and black people cannot coexist; therefore, separation was the most direct path to peace. He wanted their support for a mass black exodus.

Liberia presented a logistical nightmare. The Chiquiri coal was worthless, and the land in dispute with Costa Rica. Approximately 450 black people moved to an island off the coast of Haiti, of which almost 25% died of poor nutrition and illness before the remainder returned to the U.S. Defeated, Lincoln, considered deporting “the whole colored race of the slave states into Texas.” Days before his death, he stressed, “I can hardly believe that the South and North can live peace unless we can get rid of the negroes…I believe it would be better [for the whites] to export them to some fertile country…”

Getty/Library of Congress

In conclusion, asking me to celebrate a white master for granting me what is rightfully mine is ludicrous — honoring him for a decision that only benefitted me as a secondary consequence of his primary purpose is the height of white arrogance. It merely cements you don’t believe freedom is ours by right; it is yours to give in the manner befitting your white sensibility stretched out over the expanse of time. Time to legitimize the numbing effect of revisionist history and position us in gratitude toward master’s acquiesce and tolerance, however slow. Master is doing his best. After all, his wife, at a time, condescended to teach Frederick Douglass to read and write.

And yet, here we remain, yearning for crumbs off of master’s table. Asking, begging, pleading, for what is ours.

The real nightmare scenario for white supremacy is an actualized black mind, educated and conscious of its pervasive and pernicious effects. Global black unity jellies the white man’s spine in fear of retribution for his crimes. It is why you champion incremental progress and hail peaceful protest as the height of moral discourse. You only understand violence for violence is what it took to achieve your dominance. You cannot conceive of any other possible outcome, and you cannot revise history with enough “good” white people committing “good” white acts to cover the rancid stench. You know it stinks, and since you cannot find a solution outside your oppressive playbook, you must deny, obfuscate, distract, appease and roll the ball down the road of historical replay.

To that, I now turn a deaf ear. We must educate ourselves about our people and history if we are to be truly free. We cannot depend upon you to what is right. You have made it abundantly clear.

[racingwest]

The entire fucking alphabet But if you really wanna be picking then R A C I N G W E S T

this is so late and so long i’m sorry!!!

Rain. I love the smell afterwards, the way it makes all the trees look even greener, the way the sun comes in from behind the clouds just before it stops pouring and everything looks beautiful. Roses, especially the deep, crimson red ones that remind me of love. Reading, any time, anywhere, anything. Books of all different shapes and sizes with a blanket and the corner of my couch and just hours alone. Roleplaying, because I like turning into someone else, walking in their shoes, even just for a few minutes. Representation in the media of all different types of people, more than just straight, white, neurotypical, cis men. And Rainbows, because they’re a symbol of pride for a community that matters a lot to me.

Autumn. It’s by far the best season; I love the sun coupled with wind and cold air, and the way all the leaves change colors so beautifully, and I love that it’s a time for things to change. Annabeth Chase. She influenced me so much as I was growing up, and I looked up to her fire and her brains and her bravery more than I can put into words. I still do. All Time Low, my favorite band who writes all of my favorite songs, whose lyrics I know by heart. Apples, because they’re delicious. And Artemis, goddess of the moon, the hunt, and maidenhood.

Chocolate. What more is there to say? It’s chocolate. Carter Holt, an OC of mine who I love to pieces. Cartoons, like Young Justice and Voltron and Miraculous Ladybug, because I love the animation and everything about them. Car rides that last for hours, especially over scenic views, even though my legs may be stiff, because I have my best thoughts there.

Indigo, because it’s a dazzling color. And also because I couldn’t choose between blue and purple (what can I say? I’m bisexual). I.M., better known as @queeninbrown, because you’re an amazing friend and being around you makes me so happy. Intersectional feminism, because it is so, so important. And Iron Man, because he was one of the first superheroes I ever loved and Tony Stark is such a wonderful, complex, well-made character.

Nighttime. Especially very late, when everyone else is asleep and I’m the only one awake, when the stars are shining and the moon is out and everything is so quiet and it seems a hundred times more magical. Nice, France. I’ve been there once, and it’s a beautiful, charming place, filled with beaches and art and villages. Nightwing, because Dick Grayson is an amazing, inspiring hero and I love him and all that he stands for. 

Grassy fields. Running through them, rolling down hills, everything. Girl Meets World, because this show never ceases to inspire and amaze me with it’s messages and it’s maturity. Gun Control, because we need more of it. Enough said. Girls! Because wow!! Galaxies, galaxy aesthetics, galaxy-colored things. The universe is so vast and beautiful and they’re just a snapshot of the most amazing parts. My girl @glitterfilledballoons. Gay pride. 

Writing. It’s at the top of the list for obvious reasons. It’s become such an immensely important part of my entire being, like when I’m writing I feel like I’m exactly the person I’m supposed to be. I can’t explain how much it means to me and the impact it’s had on my life. Winter, the second best season. I love snow, especially on the very first day when everything is pristine and white and it all seems to hold a sort of magic. Wally West. He’s one of my favorite fictional characters of all time, ever. I have this connection with him, somehow; there’s something about his sense of humor, his cockiness and desire to prove himself and his reckless bravery that really gets to me. I will always, always love Wally with all of my heart. The Weasleys. All of them. Every single one, because they are perfect. Amazing. Brilliant. And Wakanda, because of the beautiful and fantastic Black Panther and the impact it’s had on society.

Elephants. They’re beautiful, they’re majestic, what more can be said? Eggplant, the way my mom cooks it, which is really random but it tastes so unbelievably amazing. E.T., a stunning film that made me cry. 

Stars. I don’t know what it is about the stars that make me love them so much. Maybe because they’re so far away and so beautiful that they seem to have some kind of otherworldly, unknown magic to them. Maybe it’s because of the beautiful patterns they make in the sky. Maybe it’s because, even now, I’m still wishing on them. Superheroes, of every kind. They represent the best parts of humanity, they stand for all the things I want to see the world become. There’s something about the masks and the capes and the saving-lives that speaks to me on an entirely new level, and I love them. Summer nights, because of the warmth and the breezes and the stars, and catching fireflies in cupped hands and the freedom of it all. School, as much as I hate it and complain about it, it’s taught me so, so much about the world and about myself, and I’m exceptionally lucky to be able to have it. Saffron, because the smell will always remind me of home. Sara Lance, a badass, bisexual captain. She was the person who made me question my sexuality. And having her to look up to as I figured out I was bisexual made all the difference. Spider-man, one of the greatest heroes of all time. He’s just wholeheartedly good; he does everything he does because he’s the most selfless person I think I’ve ever seen depicted. He’s inspiring, constantly, and I love him. Shuri, because she’s smart and hilarious and the MCU needed an intelligent, female POC queen like her. Sirius Black. Enough said. Space, Springtime. Sarcasm, because I have too much of it. And Speaking out for what you believe in.

Teenage years. I like being a teenager. As difficult and angst-filled as it is, there’s a sort of reckless freedom with a bit of urgency to it. Something I can’t quite explain. Traveling, because I love to explore the world, see every little corner and everything it has to offer. It has so much to offer. There are a million different cultures and places and people to see, and I want to see them all. Tea, green, black, iced, hot, always very, very sweet. Telling stories, and hearing them. I love learning about everything that people have done. And Thinking, when I’m alone and it’s quiet, and my thoughts can just go to so many different places.

sorry this was so damn long, i had a lot to say. thanks for the ask!!!

send me some letters and i’ll respond with things that i love.

[wtfistheinternet-blog1]

Your Voice

Everyone deserves a voice. You, me, everyone. Some are silenced, however. Their voice forever lost, forever shushed, forever muted. They feel like no one cares, no one would miss them. They don’t matter. No one listens.

Here you will get a bit of insight into the silenced, unheard voices of some people in my life. Submit your story here.

Personal details have been redacted or modified to prevent any bleed into real life from this post. This is a release for many of these people that they’ve never had, and desperately need and deserve. Any relation to real life events or people is purely coincidental and should not be taken as truth. Huge TW should be considered at all times reading this, as it’s gonna get pretty hard to swallow from time to time.

Thomas It hurt. In more ways than people understand. To some people it was just a thing that happens...like, "hey you're a teenager, you want it"...no; I didn't. I didn't ask for it to happen and I didn't want it to. Looking back, I can see it wasn't healthy...all of the "I love you" 's and all of the saving. All of the "I promise it'll feel good" 's and all of the touching. How do you tell a person you genuinely love and care about that you don't want to be with them that way...? Someone who already feels bad about themself and would take it personally...? They didn't know the mental issues I was dealing with...but that doesn't make it okay...I - and others - have made excuses for what they did but...it wasn't okay...I wasn't okay when it happened...I'm not okay when I think about it...but I'm past it...and I think I'll be okay... -- "Get your butt down here you lazy freak" Wow. That's new. I mean, you've called me a freak before but never like this...is it because I came out? Because I told you something I should be proud of, not ashamed? Maybe...it doesn't matter. Words...floating around my head when I least expect them...chasing through my thoughts when I want to be having fun. Your words have left a permanent mark on my life...I don't think you meant for them to...but they have. Self-conscious about my weight...my clothes...my...everything? You did this to me...it wasn't all you but...you didn't help. You're the one person I'm supposed to count on to love me no matter what...but it feels like I'm an outsider in my own home. -- Does it even bother you? Are you even sorry? You sit and tell me you love me...but god forbid I piss you off...pray that I don't make you so mad...that you hit me. You've done it before...but...I don't think you're sorry. I don't think it bothers you...I think you enjoy it. I understand, taking your anger and frustrations out on me...there's no one else. Better me than yourself right? But that's the thing...I flinch when you move...when you yell at me and I sit there "like a fucking potato" I'm scared...scared of saying the wrong thing, making you angry. Your opinion is still the one I cherish most...I want your love and want you to accept me and treat me well but at this point I'll take the best that I can get. But every time you hurt me, and I run away ready to break...I come back all put together...and here your words "please do the dishes" and "please set the table" and "please feed the dog". Are you even sorry? Do you even care about what just happened? You act like nothing happened...as though it's just another day of our lives....but it isn't. He won't stop you...he never has. A comforting pat on the shoulder is what I get from him...too little too late.  -- Taking away the light in my eyes Each day filled with hate and with lies Consuming, I'm trapped Because, hey, life isn't gift wrapped With each second my head starts to doubt the path I followed here And I'd be lying if I said it didn't fill me with fear Watching all the other boys Play with all of their favorite toys But never was I seen Everyone afraid of what it might mean But it's different now There's many ways how No hormone can make you a man It is simply in knowing that you can I will finally look my age My mind and body on the same page Getting hairs on my face It makes my heart start to race Now I'm better than I was before I love myself I smile more No more hate and no more lies A fire igniting behind my eyes No longer trapped I am free Free to be who I am Free to be me -- Stuck Trapped A look in the mirror, just to confirm that you hate what you see A body that belongs to you, The only one you've ever known Long, wavy hair falling down past your shoulders Curves attacking you no matter how you turn A reminder that you aren't who you want to be The mirror image showing your reality Your mind holding a burning desire to see you as you should be A picture of short-cut hair, with piercing eyes to match A lack of curves, and all the right pieces But what you see is what you've got Stuck in a body that isn't yours Trapped like a bird in a cage, wishing to be free Wishing to look in the mirror, just to confirm that you love what you see -- It's happening again. Why? Why? Constricted breathing; short breaths. In and out and out and out. Breathing in is harder. Wait. I did it. In, out, repeat. Head pounding. Nothing heard over my thumping heart. Erratic breathing. Panic. Oh no. Why, why, why??? Not again. Why? Counting; 1, 2, 3, 5, 7, 9. 1, 5, 11, 10, 8, 3. Words; ringing, swimming, screaming. Boobs, curves, muscle, lips, girl; why? Why? Head. Spinning. Why? Pain, hurt, ache. Sad. Body. Not mine. Wrong. Bad. Why? Binder? Yes. No. Don't have one. Need. Sweatshirt? Layers? Yes. God, yes. Flat, flat, flat. Height? Short. Sad. Tall? No. Boots? Yes. Tall? Maybe. No. I hope. Packer? Yes. No. Need. Why? Hair? Short. Enough? No. Voice? High. Lower? Please. Help. Lower. Need. Want. Baggy clothes? Yes. No curves. Yay? Not enough. Not enough...never enough.

Elijiah Today a kid asked why I was going in the teachers bathroom Which also happens to be the new gender neutral bathroom I told him I was gender neutral He said “You don’t look like one” Which got me thinking. What does this kid think gender neutral people are supposed to look like? What does this kid think gay people look like? What does this kid think I look like? Also, What does society think people who are not straight or cis look like? Why do gay men have to look like drag queens to them, Or like they know exactly what to wear with what? Why do lesbians have to look like butch, men like women who wear plaid, Or have their hair cut short? Why do people assume people have to look a certain way? We’re all humans and we all have different ways of expressing ourselves Some people, Like me, Can’t. And when we can’t, People assume we are what we look like. I look like a girl. Therefore in that boy’s eyes, I was a girl going into a teacher’s bathroom, Or the gender neutral bathroom. Has everyone been programmed to see ‘gay’? To see ‘lesbian’? To see ‘gender neutral’? And the many others? What is it that makes them think these things? Is it the media? Perhaps. But we’re all human, We’re all different, We all don’t need to look like what society thinks we should look like. Society tends to bunch people together, But we’re all our own person, Keep being yourself, Keep being different. -- I was alone. I was seeking love in places I would never actually find it. I was lost. I was searching for the light that would never be found. I tried everything, I tried being pretty, I tried being needy, I tried being somewhat myself. Nothing worked. I resorted to the forbidden deed that I shouldn’t have. The pain just reminded me that I was alive. Honestly I wasn’t thinking, and then I did start thinking. I started thinking this world would be better off without me. Honestly I would never have done what I was thinking of, but it was such beautiful pain I felt. I hated myself and I only knew that kids had been making fun of me for so many years. Slowly chipping away at who I was, creating someone void of any love. I went on for years like that, a shell of a person. I never thought about myself, never cared to. I didn’t care about anyone else anymore, I had to keep the mask on to keep them happy. To keep them off my back. When I looked in the mirror, I hated everything that was looking back. Nothing made sense, the curves, the hills of my body. Every inch was foreign to me yet I had known it for years. I seemed happy on the outside, no one dares to look in my eyes. They say the eyes are the windows to the soul, but for someone to look into my eyes meant they saw who I really was. All the years of abuse, all the years alone, all the tears, and now lack of tears. No one would dare look into such eyes. I was angry. Angry at the world, angry at the people who didn’t care about me, angry at myself for caring so much as to get angry. I wanted to get rid of my emotions. I wanted the hurt to end, I wanted the feeling of pure emptiness to fade away. I didn’t want to feel alone anymore. After a while I realized I need my self hate to continue to move everyday. I leaned on it like it was a person, I used it to comfort me. I went on everyday like a robot, doing the same thing. Wake up. Go to school. Go home. Do homework. Sleep if I could. Wake. Repeat. Junior Year came fast, I’d gone through almost three relationships that ended badly. I was ready to give up on whatever I was hoping for from these people.        They say that it will get better, they tell you to look on the bright side. True enough there is a bright side but the darkness always burns it out.  -- It never ceases to amaze me How people can be so...Ignorant Why do they have to judge? They have no right Everyone has problems. To people who judge, You are not perfect. Neither are we. But you have no room to talk I don’t understand why. Why. That always seems to be my dilema for everything Why do ignorant people judge? Why do you love me? Why did you have to die? Why, why, why? Riddle me this, Why can’t we all just...love? Not even love… Respect. Why is it so fucking hard To just respect someone? I could see if they lost your respect, But it does not give you the right to open your goddamned mouth To speak the words you barely even thought about To hurt someone without care. How fucking dare you. Next time, Just think before those words slip past your lips. Think about what you do to the person on the inside. Words fucking hurt. They hurt worse than any physical pain, They leave scars. You may not see them, but they are there. So think before you open your mouth. Do you want those words redirected towards you? So next time. Just shut the fuck up. Thanks. :) -- You thought it was over didn’t you? No, it never stops. The words pierce your heart, Blood flows cold down your chest, Your vision blurs. Not with tears, No. You don’t know how to cry. You wish you did, Don’t you? People cry to release pain. You can’t, It stays inside Bottled up. You swear it’s going to break soon, You honestly hope it does, Just to get rid of all the poison. You know it won’t though. You know you’re plagued to keep everything inside, Forever. Not even death will release you from your eternal coffin of pain. You know, No matter how hard people try to help, It only makes it worse. Because you let them in, You let them in and wreak havoc on your already fragile state. Only a few you really love, Like the genuine love. Someone with such a scarred past, Shouldn’t know what love is. You do though, You barely learned it, But it’s there. You give it all to them, None left for yourself. You don’t mind though. You don’t mind not loving yourself, Because you never did. Sometimes you think you feel beautiful. Don’t fool yourself. You know you’re not. Many people say so. Some say not to listen to them, That the people wrong, Why are they right? Who's to say they’re not lying to you? -- I am not who I appear to be. I am not what you see on the outside. I’m not who my parents think I am, nor what my siblings think I am.  A few people know who I truly am, only a few know who is inside this shell. I wish I could be myself, I preach for people to just be who they are yet I am a hypocrite. I am a fake. I can’t look in the mirror, I can’t look at myself. There are so many people who are lucky enough to be able to be themselves, and I am so happy for them. Yet I am jealous, jealous that I can’t be. I’m not choosing this, I really can’t. I know there will be fingers pointed, someone will be blamed for this and it will be deemed unimportant. It will be pushed into the back of the closet and hidden under a bunch of clothes hopefully never to be brought up again. They will not understand, they will blame and be angry. They think they know who I am because that is who I have presented for so long. They want to keep me safe, but really they want to keep me from myself. They think I will self destruct with this and don’t want to lose the person they have loved for so long. If only they knew that the person they loved died so long ago. They say they know me, they’re absolutely sure they know, but if they really knew me how could they have missed the true me? How could they have blindly pushed me aside and created the perfect person to hold me to? I just want to be me, I want to be able to look in the mirror one day and not hate what I see looking back. I’m already at a point where I’m going to break. After all the years of being the person my parents created, being good, doing what I was told. I’m going to break and it’s not going to be pretty. I’m scared though, scared I might fuck up, like I usually do. This is not going to end well. -- I mean I grew up being bullied and shit, physically mentally and emotionally so i have issues yes but I have learned to have a hard shell, to never let anyone in.... I also learned to love people no matter who they are I don't care what someone is, black, white, gay, straight, redhead, or blue headed, You are a person and You are loved, and I feel like that my whole background lets me love people no matter who they are Now I do not accept people who bully, who are dicks or who know what they are doing is wrong, because that is just ignorance but I do believe everyone deserves a second chance And you gave me a second chance to love myself, to trust someone, to feel loved, to feel beautiful And I don't ever want to give this feeling up And I know things change but yknow what? I'm going to live in this moment And love you, myself and spread as much joy as I can Because I want people to feel as I do with you Like anything is possible and everything is And to be loved and to love one's self And be able to love people as they are Cause everyone deserves to be loved I am different and I accept that, I don't want to be normal And I feel like everyone should accept that they are weird as well because weird is a beautiful thing Now girls, They put on makeup and dress to show skin But I think every girl is so beautiful, they don't need makeup or have skirts so short you can see their ass, not to say if you feel beautiful wearing it... And guys, They are so self conscious, no matter how strong they look, everyone has insecurities, but they shouldn't, they should let people love them for themselves And for everyone who doesn't identify, You are amazing. So brave and so magnificent We are all special Now I say that carefully because no one is better than anyone else No one should ever dare think they are better No matter what color you are No matter how much money you have All those celebrities? They are just like us Human Just with more paper than us Big deal Don't try to be someone else Because there is no one like you and if you want to be someone else, the world will lose the most beautiful thing An individual someone special a snowflake And yes I realize that is so corny but it’s true Now I know there is a whole speech about how "you are not special" True there are millions of high schoolers who are nerds, millions of people in chess club, billions of people who get honors But no one, absolutely NO ONE is like you And that is the beautiful thing in this world The individuality of every single person

Jae So I was picked on a lot as a kid, for various reasons; for being too loud, too quiet, too short, too big, and anything in between. I didn't have many friends, and it seemed like if I made a friend, some circumstance intervened, and they would be gone. In 5th grade a made friends with a girl, lets call her Julia. Julia was nice at first, and shared many common interests with me, mainly Harry Potter. We were absolutely obsessed, read all of the books, and sang all the songs. We would swing on the swings during recess and sing Harry Potter in 99 Seconds, over and over and over again. But then, something changed, she became slightly more physical with me. Jabbing me in the shoulder, "as a joke" she would say. Over time, it escalated. It went from me making terrible jokes, and being told to shut up, to her threatening to make me crumple when she shoved her fingers inside my collarbone, nearly cracking it. Julia called this "move", "The Point". If I did anything slightly embarrassing in front of her, she would glare at me, and hold up two fingers, as a warning of what would come next. She enjoyed hearing me screech as we sat at the lunch table and she shoved her hand down my shirt once again. She began to start slapping me, hitting me, and doing anything she could to "control me". Julia had me on a figurative leash, and I had no choice but to be extremely compliant, or lose the only person that would ever talk to me, and she was very well aware of this. I never told anyone, not a teacher, nor a parent, not anyone I knew. I was petrified of retribution, the fear that when I told someone, she would come back and hurt me even further out of anger. I had to have some sort of outlet, so I began to pull out my hair. Trichotillomania. It was small bits at first, a strand here, a strand there. Then, it worsened, the one time I remember so clearly is sitting in the Challenge room, and pulling out a fist full of my hair as Julie kept tracing a sensitive spot on my neck with her finger. Once she saw what I had in my hand, she screamed and the whole class was focused on me. I bolted out of the room and hid in the boys bathroom the rest of the day. Then my parents began to notice, my mom saw that I was balding, because it was especially noticeable when my hair was wet. I was avoiding school, and played sick at least once a week. She became concerned, and finally, one painful, tearful night, I told her everything that had happened and she started bawling, and promised that it would get better. She went to the school and told them, and they didn't take action right away, my father, working for the town knew that this wasn't right, and threatened to call the police to report physical assault. Well that changed their mind real quick. She was given a 1 day suspension. That. Was. It. 1 day for her to sit at home and watch TV, to make up for the 9 months of hell I had to endure. The year ended, she went to a different school, and I was once again the loner with no friends. I had developed a lot of anxiety, and depression, and feeling worthless, I was an emotional mess, which didn't make my transition into middle school any easier.