“white lives matter”
yes, we know. your lives matter. they always do.
now, what about everyone else?
in 3rd grade i remember my history book, the 2 pages dedicated to black and brown enslavement. the 1 page to indigenous history…the american flag on the cover,
waving its pseudo victory.
how ENRAGED they made me…so enraged…
i don’t do flags.
on the cafeteria table, i just hopped up on it,
“shut up! you mindless fucks! i have an announcement! this books is a fallacy!!!”
i still laugh remembering their shock. like, there she is again,
the weird one.
in front of all the little white kids, averting their eyes from me, eating their matzah with slathered fatty butter i announced that,
would not read it. they could shove their false book up their asses.
and i slowly
began to rip the pages.
joyous crazy laughter, and not a pin dropped, or it would have
US. US? US??? what US?
those white male authors,
i needed a new version — a true version. one that did not include
thanksgiving minus the small pox and some chic named pocohontas raped continually.
black and brown people rockin on some damn non-existent porch, like the lash and the metal box and collars and dogs and lynching,
were not in existence.
i wanted the text REwritten.
and when they took me to the nurse, so hard — my arm had bruises,
“something’s wrong with HER! get her OUT of this school” (which they did, got rid of me)
i feared all that money my dad had paid, would go to
waste. and i would get my ass KICKED!
but it didn’t.
i’m still living.
ALL those lives matter to me.
yes, even the white ones that are hurting…
who should have far less pages, with the truth on record, that wasn’t no indigenous americans happy with their genocide,
and wasn’t no black and brown people playing banjos and singing gospel.
what it really was —
was white supremacy.
and i knew then, in that instant, that i was going to be —
different. no soccer mom housewife material, no fancy cars, and expensive therapy, and no, i can’t stand field hockey. it hurts your back. lol
different, and difficult, and full of
and nothing’s changed,