colorsee


I think when people started telling me
                                          “It’s real”
I did believe them
I thought, I can see that, and
why wouldn’t I believe you

?

Over time, though,
as I kept hearing this story
                                         of being pushed back
                                         or not seen
                                         or spoken for
                                        without consent,

I started to feel something other
than pity
or genuine compassion
or guilt

I started to feel the hair
on my arms stand up
as I realized how
                                         I move with
                                        a wave of history
                                        that carves away at
                                        a rock made of spirits
                                        and bodies

                                        and I (we)
                                        crash against it
                                        again
and again

                                           but I hope this is an analogy
                                            Will it break at the breaking point?

Because I am here,
and I am breaking

I have so much
I know so little                                     

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