It’s messed up that I subscribe to the ideologies of the very systems of oppressions that I abhor. I fancy theories on my inadequacies. I reject my beauty and celebrate my flaws. I question that which is certain and believe in the fallacious. I am the manifestation of self-actualization hidden behind complacent revolution. I am the new warrioress. Ready to fight but too afraid to sound the alarms. I stand guard by my soldiers when they see me as the enemy. I seek help from the counsel of that which society has deemed ignorant and niggardly. I love all that I come from despite one problem: I have no origin. They taught me that in school, how my beginnings date back to their constitutional clauses. Realizing the incompetency of my gum wrapper education. I respond through my pain, though I know no way to express such grief. I feel the losses of peoples before my eyes and find hope in the smiles of those much wiser but too young to realize it. I drink sour sulphites of sick lies and spit back dogma, hoping to stumble into a religion that can liberate me from my mind. Your weakness consumes me. I digest the hate slowly. Internally, we suffer gravely.
I am what no woman or man has dared to be: in bondage, yet free.