To my people
To you, the generation I grew up in, the people I surrounded myself with every day, the people who I donât know but know are out there somewhere, this is to you.
To the boy curled up in bed whoâs been taught by society that he must be a strong, masculine man who canât cry in front of anyone, who has grown up suppressing so many tears and emotions that now he just feels so painfully numb even the blade in his hand canât hurt him anymore.
To the girl sat on the floor of the shower, trying to scrape every last inch of her skin clean, who is scratching so much and so hard that she is ripping her skin off and bleeding. Trying to clean away the dirt that was forced upon her by a man who she said no to, by a man who she didnât ask for nor want. But she is too afraid to speak up because of the limits that society has tied her to, because she knows that she was wearing a skirt and a crop top that night and that she had been drinking at a friends house.
To the kids who are sat aching on the floor of their bedrooms, who had their hearts broken and torn to pieces too early, who experienced heartbreak so prematurely that they will never fully recover. And the only sounds they will remember for years to come is the sounds of their favourite sad songs that they listened to on repeat as their broken heartstrings bled the blues. That theyâll never truly be able to swim because of the ocean of tears that they drowned themselves in.
To the friends who were a crutch for everyone, who listened and helped whenever they were called upon, but never had anyone there to help them themselves. The friends who were no more a third leg to stand on than a passing night cloud. Who helped everyone no matter what, and gave their best advice when on the inside they were dying themselves.
To the kids who tried their best to make everyone around them happy, who gave their everything to everyone just so they could see a smile on someoneâs face, but were met with nothing more than hate and misconceptions. The kids who everyone thinks are rude and heartless, when in reality theyâre the nicest people anyone could ask for. Who gave so much in the name of someone elseâs happiness that they neglected theyâre own, and are now filled with a bitter emptiness of lost hope and broken dreams.
To the people who have argued with who they are, who have tried to be someone theyâre not and have tried to suppress their inner feelings because they are so scared of who they really are.
To the queer kids who have grown up being told that God is every kind of love except theirs, who have lost their sense of self and their sense of self worth, terrified that their love will burn so passionate and bright that their bodies will be lost in flames of hell.
To the minorities who feel like they will never truly belong in this world because no matter where they go there is always somebody waiting to discriminate against them.
To the people of colour who are terrified to walk down the street day or night incase they coincidentally match the description of a suspect of a break in from 2 days ago, incase a white supremacist turns the corner to see them, and their stone cold eyes stare straight into yours as they slowly pull a knife out of their pocket.
To the Latinxâs who are told each day to âgo back to Mexicoâ despite the fact that youâre from Cuba, Puerto Rico, Dominican Republic, or just anywhere other than Mexico, because they fail to see that Mexico. Isnât. The. Only. Country. To. Speak. Spanish. And that, this is your home.
To the children who grew up in silence, who sat in the corner learning to stay still like statues giving no clues that they were there, with not so much as a breath falling from their mouths. Who grew up seeing fists instead of hugs, who grew up black and blue instead of colourful and happy. The kids who used to bring bruises and broken to teeth to show and tell but never told. To the kids so terrified of the hand that would be laid across them if they stepped out of line that their lives became a tightrope of fear and paranoia, that they may never get to the end because the rope leads on forever even after they have grown up.
To the kids who barely made it through the education system even though they tried their hardest every single day, even though they worked as hard as they could and applied themselves in their all to everything they did. Who barely scrapped Câs when their effort was A* worthy. Who were told âyou just didnât try hard enoughâ even though their hands were bleeding ink from all the writing they had done, even though their eyes were red with pain because they hadnât slept properly in weeks, even though their stomachs howled like the wind of a hurricane because they hadnât eaten properly for days, because revision was more important their health.
To the children and teens who are scared to go to school every single day, terrified that it might be their last. The kids who will grow up knowing that they will never be able to see their best friend ever again, the kids who laid underneath a table as they watched the life drain out of their best friends once bright and happy eyes, knowing theyâll never be able to say âI love youâ one last time.
To the friends who are terrified to watch their American friends go to school each day because they fear that one day theyâll never hear from them again, because the last sound they ever heard wasnât the notification of your text but the detonation of a gun ricocheting through their ears as a bullet embedded itself into their body.
To the kids who walk the school halls each day pretending not to hear the abuse thatâs shouted at them by their peers. The kids who cry in the shower because then their tears are invisible, because it makes it that little bit less real, because it makes the pain hurt that little bit less. Who walk into school each day void of any feeling, who have emptied themselves so they will feel nothing, because feeling nothing hurts less than the suffering they would be put through.
To the people who smile every day when all they want to do is cry, who say theyâre fine when really they are anything but. Who walk each day like a victory when inside the war is still raging on, knowing that reinforcements are not coming.
To the LGBT+ people who have to hide in the closet, terrified to open the doors, because they know the world is so quick to judge but so slow to accept even when it is true love. The people who feel like theyâll never truly belong because theyâve learnt to hate themselves, because what they are is wrong and sinful, because they have to listen to homophobic comments every single day and pretend like they are something theyâre not in the vain hope that maybe no one will see through the facade.
To my generation. To my people. My friends and my foes. My friends that I havenât met yet and the people that I will never meet. The people that I donât know but know are out there. I hear you. This world is a blacked up shade of fuckery, this world will take any shred of hope you have and crush it whilst you watch.
But to each and every one of you, youâre amazing. You face a different challenge every day, you break on the inside and still stand tall, youâve learnt to fix yourself because no one else will. You are an inspiration! You may not now, but you will be proud of who you are one day, you will be proud of your personality, proud of your heritage, proud of your sexuality! You will not suffer in silence anymore. You are beautiful, smart, talented and funny! You are not worthless, you donât need to hide. You have a purpose. You make this world a better place.
To anyone who needed thisâŠ
Iâm proud of you.
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July 27th 2018 - Finished. 16:11pm
THIS
