to be

lynched by your own humanity

gutted by the hands of human kindness

and split open for the world to devour your innards

is the only thing you think you will not be able to survive

but when you do come to and the light shines directly into your eyes and you’re crying back tears

not of pain

or sorrow

or even joy

but just to wet your cheeks for once with something genuine…

you’re body is not your own

only theirs

a fleshy substance to be examined and consumed

 

to feel the last remnants of your dignity vaporize into thin air

your heart beat no more

because this is not the body of a human anymore

this is the body of a conquest

 

 

this narrative has an ending that you didn’t write

a story you didn’t tell

history is always written by the victors…never the victimized.

 

 

so how do we change that?

we speak

and speak

and keep speaking till our tongues fall off

even if our words fall of deaf words

at least they have been spoken…

uttered into existence

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