You are not one of us.
If I speak about my political opinions
I am denied my cultural identity,
my history,
my roots.
You are not one of us.
So in a place
where my political opinions
align with the majority
I thought I would feel welcomed,
but I am not.
My experiences of racism
are continually denied and invalidated.
You are not one of us.
To fit in and be safe,
I have had to hide portions of myself,
political or cultural.
I have done as much damage
to myself
camouflaging.
I am not me anymore.
Lucy (The Egg Girl) is nauseous as she prepares to hit publish on this poem. A poem that had been in drafts for a month, but a draft that wasn’t published in time. A draft that was heavily edited because the original words used in this poem were too fitey. Instead, she careful chose words to convey the emotion undoubtedly felt by many. I speak from a privileged safety, with guilt that I am speaking at all when I’m not in the thick of it all.
