Wednesday, March 8, 2017

I have nothing to say

I have nothing to say.
In a world where oppression grows on the daily,
Injustice exists,
And respect doesn't live amongst us.
I—have nothing to say.

I hear conversations
Between family members,
Between friends,
Between strangers.

Conversations about chaos,
About the daily storm of events falling upon us,
About those who confront prejudices,
About those who are white, those who are black,
About those who are old and young,
About those oppressed by our relentless society,
About everyone.

I, too, face this,
And I want to share.
I want to share my opinion, my struggles.
I want to share my daily internal suffering caused by those who think less of me.
Who think of me as a less intelligent, less capable person.
This, I want to share.
Yet I can't.
I can't share because
"What do I know?
As a young, nonworking person,
As a woman, as an immigrant."
I hear it again: "What do I know?"
I then think to myself: "I—have nothing to say."

To ignorance,
To injustice,
To closed mindedness,
To those who think times are unchanging,
And today's oppression is as well.
To those who complain too much and do too little,
To those who want me quiet, silenced,
Those who think I'm incapable of greater things,
Whose minds are strictly set to believing in endless inequity,
I—have nothing to say.
And yet, a lot to do.

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