To my people

To you, the generation I grew up in, the people I surrounded myself with every day, the people who I don’t know but know are out there somewhere, this is to you.

To the boy curled up in bed who’s been taught by society that he must be a strong, masculine man who can’t 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 can’t 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 didn’t 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 the tears they held up. That they’ll 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 someone’s face, but were met with nothing more than hate and misconceptions. The kids who everyone thinks are rude and heartless, when in reality they’re the nicest people anyone could ask for. Who gave so much in the name of someone else’s happiness that they neglected they’re 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 they’re 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, who are absolutely terrified that the love they are feeling will burn too bright and they’re bodies will be dragged down and lost in the 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 Latinx’s who are told each day to “go back to Mexico” despite the fact that you’re from Cuba, Puerto Rico, Dominican Republic, or just anywhere other than Mexico, because they fail to see that Mexico. Isn’t. The. Only. Country. To. Speak. Spanish. And that, this is your home.

To the children who grew up in silence, who sat in the still like statues daring not to make even the smallest of movements, 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 cover up with oversized jumpers and make up because the bruises were getting too frequent to be passed off as ‘just clumsy’. 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 C’s when their effort was A* worthy. Who were told “you just didn’t try hard enough” even though their hands were bleeding ink from all the writing they had done, even though their eyes were red with pain because they hadn’t slept properly in weeks, even though their stomachs howled like the wind of a hurricane because they hadn’t 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 they’ll never be able to say “I love you” 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 they’ll never hear from them again, because the last sound they ever heard wasn’t 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 that’s 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 they’re 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 they’ll never truly belong because they’ve 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 they’re 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 haven’t met yet and the people that I will never meet. The people that I don’t 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, you’re amazing. You face a different challenge every day, you break on the inside and still stand tall, you’ve 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 don’t need to hide. You have a purpose. You make this world a better place.

To anyone who needed this…

I’m proud of you.

______________________________________

July 27th 2018 - Finished. 16:11pm

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To my people