What They Tell Me
Maisy Mansell-Warren
I was drifting in the middle of longing to know and
dreading the answer.
What is this anger and injustice that fills me?
How do I dilute this emotion?
How can I make my eyes see
the world how I want to see it?
How can I stay asleep to this feeling, this earth,
this hatred and blatant mockery that is somehow acceptable,
this pain people are forced
to believe they
inflict
on
themselves,
the words which are used against them and not for
them,
telling them:
“crying just makes you seem weak,” telling them:
“take a joke,”
telling them:
“it’s your own fault for letting them make you vulnerable.”
All these jeering fingers
hidden
behind their pathetic
excuses
turned to you as soon as you open your mouth.
And then I wake
up to
the reality of life,
that no, it is not fair.
But that is not enough for
me.
I seek justice,
I seek power,
I seek a way to thrust open minds and scream into them.
And I seek space for my
words and actions to soar high,
and snap others into consciousness about how this life
isn’t
enough
for
everyone.