A Letter to the Colorblind

It’s alive and well, whispered through the trees, growing like ivy up the walls of every institution built by and known to man.  It lies hidden in the words of those who tell you that I “sound so white” for being a person of color.  It’s the same slap you feel when they’ve decided to accept your friendship because “you’re not ghetto like the other black girls”.  It decorates the mask of color-blindness that I wore for years, the same mask covering the many faces of today.  It’s the latch of the door of the closet you’re trying to free yourself from.  It’s curled up on the tongue of the “brother” that tells you to “eat off your own plate” because “sisters” should never be running them white boys.  It’s the word that threatens to slip into your stereotyping mind when you can’t see her hair because she wears a hijab.  It’s spelled out in the semen you’re wiping off of your stomach even though you had told him “no”.  It’s your spit in the face of the migrant that you complain is taking all of our American jobs— the very same jobs that you would never even consider applying for yourself.

OPPRESSION.

Denied by both the master and the slave that supposedly had been set free way back before Lincoln earned his spot on the penny.  Blindness.  Or is it just willful ignorance?  It’s taking a single sip of the lead-infested water that they are forced to drink and bathe in everyday and using that drip as a testament to the water’s purity.  It’s sticking your fingers in your ears in a futile effort to drown out the deafening sound of those scraping the bottom of the barrel— the same barrel on top of which you are standing.  It’s the odor of the hot, black tar you’re pouring over us so that you may drive on the smoother, paved road.  Wake up.

-Yours Truly

 

A Letter to the Anonymous

We are almost constantly subjected to the judgement of the world around us.   We are molded to fit the ideas that manifest within the minds of other people, and shoved in to small boxes, categorized by how we are expected to fit in society.   As modern society mandates, we focus on the unattainable and anyone that does not measure up is forced further into the dark corners of their neatly-labeled box.  It’s a tough world that we live and we have to strive to protect ourselves and to keep from being stifled and stamped out.  This is why there will always be a band of rebels with each new generation.  This is the reason feminism has been revitalized.  Art, music, writing, etc. exists for this purpose.  And this is why one of our greatest fall-backs will always be anonymity.

We are enabled when we can disguise ourselves with aliases or remain unknown.  Anonymity lessens the fear and embarrassment that comes with putting yourself out there.  To some, it’s the invisibility cloak that we’ve all dreamed of having since the first Harry Potter book, where others are actually liberated and empowered by such inconspicuousness.  The blessing of anonymity only takes a turn for the worse when combined with the harassment of others.  In that instance, your empowering invisibility now becomes this huge, neon-colored, blinking arrow that points straight to your weak mind and immaturity.

We are ADULTS.  Why, then, do we choose to entertain ourselves in this way?  We are suppressed enough by society without having you open up your secret texting app to spit your words of idiocy using a fake number.  Grow up.  Take my hand and let’s progress together as individuals.  There’s still time if we operate start now.  Any longer and I’m afraid you might not make it out alive which in that case…

*puts on 40 gold neck chains*  I pity the fool.

-Yours Truly

A letter to my “Half-Daddy”

As the young thug that I was, I was almost constantly drowning in a mass of about 2 billion stuffed animals.  As you remember, each of those jewels had their own name, personality, background, and life story.  They took turns accompanying me when we had to venture out into the real world.  When we returned home, I would go about my usual self-entertainment of lining them up, single-file, in a parade that stretched from my room, through the kitchen, around the couch, and ending somewhere on the stairs leading down to the den.  Whenever there was a tornado warning, I secured those suckers in trash bags for easy-grabbing in case we had to take shelter underneath the stairs.

Essentially, these beanie babies were my bros…that is, until you informed me that growing inside each and every one was a sack of SPIDER BABIES, waiting to hatch, burst, or whatever the hell it is that they do.  You told me they come “spewing out from between the seams ANY day now”.

This haunted me for weeks.  Deathly afraid of the inevitable hatch-and-attack of the Charlotte’s offspring, but unwilling to do away with my beloveds, I decided to stash them in one corner of the room and sleep with one eye open.   I, now, know that this was just a real jerk move.  Either that or some kind of subconscious indication to the evil spider babies that were living inside you, threatening to burst out onto your exterior.  I  almost think it may have been the latter which makes sense, considering the fact that up until a couple of years ago, I recognized your existence as the poison of my life.

Yes, we’ve since renewed and repaired that relationship for which I am very grateful, but the spider babies still haunt me.  It makes me wonder what else I have swept under the rug or into the corners of my mind where the spider babies can fester, waiting to drag me down to rot forever in Spider Baby Hell.

Thanks a lot.

-Yours Truly

A Letter to a Friend

I know you’ll say you don’t remember, but for me, it was like looking at my reflection in a mirror.  There was so much that I wanted to say to you, but I couldn’t figure out how to open my mouth and give you my words because I’ve never known how to express myself to others.  I stared at you like a deer in headlights while my head drowned in all of the things I wanted to say to you.    Sad thing is, I still can’t work up the nerve because I don’t particularly enjoy my own vulnerability.  As they’re still floating around in my skull, I still feel the need to tell you, not necessarily to help you, but to give you support and let you know that although our situations may have been different, I’ve been through the same things that you’ve been enduring.  And I’m still working through them just as you are.

I know what it feels like to feel like nothing, like you have no purpose, like there’s nothing holding you down to Earth, like no one would care if you were gone.  I know how it Is to feel so dead inside that it seems to seep out onto your skin.  There were times when these feeling were so strong that I questioned my very existence.  I felt nothing— no emotion, not some vast emptiness, but feelings so strong that I felt nothing at all.  I’ve wandered outside in negative degree weather unable to feel the cold at all.  I’ve nearly stepped out in front of traffic because I felt so unreal that I thought maybe they’d just pass right through me.  I’ve wanted to slice my neck open to see if my body was actually filled with blood.  I’ve questioned my sanity because I’m never able to figure out what triggers this state of mind.  Continue reading