So scared of being wrong that we can’t change our minds.
So scared of being judged that we can’t be honest.
So scared of being weak that we can’t be vulnerable.
So scared of ourselves.
I mean,
Who could ever love us?
Who could ever be stupid enough to love us?
Can they not see how dangerous we are?
Can they not see that we want to be alone?
This is my country. This isn’t their country.
This is my domain. This isn’t your concern.
This is MY land. Get off MY land.
This is MY money. Get your OWN money.
These are MY guns. Don’t you TOUCH them.
These are MY wounds. Don’t you TOUCH me.
DON’T YOU TOUCH ME.
DON’T TOUCH ME.
DON’T COME CLOSE.
DON’T YOU DARE.
I AM TOUGH. I’VE BEEN FAIR.
I AM STRONG. I DON’T CARE.
I CAN DO IT. I CAN PROVE IT.
I CAN I CAN I CAN
Are you okay?
…………..
I hate being away from America in times of anguish.
My mom told me she’s glad I’m not home for moments like these.
That thoughts and prayers are all that’re shared, and there’s nothing we can do.
I know she’s right, too.
But I want to hug my friends.
I want to cry with my teachers.
I want to sit slouched on my porch and smoke.
I want to stare into space and lose hope.
I want to shed one tear at a time and think quietly to myself:
“Step by step, day by day, we’re going to have to take this country into our own hands.”
I’m sorry, but we have to protect our kids, even if it means teaching them ourselves.
No one else is going to teach them the truth.
Not because they don’t want to, either.
They’re not allowed. And maybe they’ve been lied to themselves.
Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.
The truth is bleak.
The truth is nuanced.
The truth is overwhelming and nonlinear and infinite and multidimensional and it shifts every second and it scares the living shit out of me.
And you know what the hardest truth is?
The kids know the truth.
They feel the truth in their hearts and they can’t put it into words because no one has ever said it to them.
They’re waiting for you to say it so they will know they’re feeling the right emotions and hurting for the right reasons.
They’re waiting to see your face change to meet theirs. Waiting for you to hold them and cry with them and show them you care.
But we don’t tell them what’s true, we tell them what’s correct. Dancing carefully around the truth just so as not to say the wrong thing and upset the wrong person who could fuck up your life if they knew you were right.
To try to speak the truth out loud would require a level of trust we have never had to place on the young. A level of responsibility we feel ashamed of skirting for so long. A level of accountability we are deathly afraid to take.
But we’re past that. It’s time to own it.
Children’s lives are at stake.
I’m sorry. We’re so sorry.
This is your world now.