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Open Letter to Everyone

A Poem

Photo by Maryam

I’m tired.

And it’s not the kind of tired that can be fixed by eight hours of sleep

It’s not the kind of tired that can be awakened with some more caffeine

I feel exhaustion slowly creep into my veins from the moment I wake up from my sleep.

two hours or ten, it doesn’t matter because I’m still tired.

I try to surround myself by more people but it doesn’t seem to matter

Its like I find every reason to be tired and mad

But more so the latter

See I’m mad, I’m so mad and before you label me an angry black woman,

Let me tell you something. I’m mad that people aren’t mad

That black lives don’t matter

I’m mad at people who aren’t mad that sexism still happens in the workplace.

I’m mad every time a woman gets attacked because she chooses to cover her face.

I’m mad that the first question a detective will ask a female victim of rape,

Is, ‘did you provoke him in any way?’

It makes me mad

I’m also sad. And before you label me a pessimist

Let me tell you how sad I am about the stigma that encompasses mental illness

This thing that lives inside my head that makes me fight every day isn’t a thing to be romanticised.

It’s not a beautiful thing when there are voices telling you you aren’t worth anything

It’s not art when you cry yourself to sleep on more nights than one and you don’t even know why

It’s a crime when we as a society blame those who’ve “lost their mind" when they had no control of it in the first place

It’s a disgrace when you tweet #BellLetsTalk and you want to discuss it

But when your friend tells you they are stressed out and can’t take it anymore you say “get over it”

There is something wrong with the world when it costs 30B to end world hunger

And the US Congress spends 737B to fight war on terror

Do you think millions of children would understand that rich countries choose to invade other lands instead of fill their stomachs?

I’m disappointed.

That we blame third world countries for their “own problem”

But seem to displace the idea that colonialists became wealthy off resources that were stolen

Every person in this room is privileged under the specs of ignorance

We can all choose to forget, but lest we not forget the land we are on right now.

The land that soon turned to graves to those who were simply here first. How

Then does it prove our humanity when this country was founded upon none.

I don’t mean to be bitter, but I’m pretty sure

Being proud of your country doesn’t include disregarding your failures

I’m tired

And I’m mad. I’m mad at the fact that I’m a hypocrite.

Because while I’m preaching to all of you, I paint a picture that I don’t fit.

I guess you could say ignorance is bliss

But in most cases, it blissfully takes you away from morality

Because while I’m standing up here… that’s all I’m doing.

Standing.


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