I am a stranger to this lifestyle.
The kind of lifestyle that makes me just as worthy as the one who stands next to me.
No matter if that person looks like the color of my teeth or the iris in my eye.
I should be just as worthy, just as privileged, just as equal.
You hear that?
I said I should.
Why can’t I say that I am?
Why can’t these words stand tall in truth instead of slump in disappointment as they’re ripped from my sorrowful tongue?
I can’t say that I’ve tasted the next man’s privilege.
I can, however, say that I’ve been given the - hm - the “opportunity” to “witness” it in its purest form.
I’ve watched it tear families down from a tough, impenetrable structure to a raw, vulnerable core.
I’ve watched it take a man and turn him into blood, flesh and a tainted name tag - not describing the man he was, but the man they were too scared to share equality with.
I’ve watched it take a woman and eat away at her heart by slicing away the very beings that have solidified that heart into the beautiful vessel it once was.
One would say this is magic ; I say there’s no such thing
One would say that this is a revelation; I say this is just a vicious apocalypse.
The air is polluted with unreasonable hate and plagued with distasteful death.
I’m sorry that I can’t feel this privilege because I’m so used to having to go the extra mile to feel- even for a second- the warmth of victory.
I’m sorry that I, alone, can’t tuck this hate away; that I, alone, can’t force feed it peace and expect the rumble in its tummy to settle and disappear.
I’m sorry that I can’t tell the sorcerers who conjured up this destruction to stop, to reason, to think.
I, like those who are hurting, suffering, grieving, scared, frightened, are lost in this new universe.
If you’re not privileged, you are a foreigner.
Therefore, you are a stranger to this new found lifestyle.
As am I, just a mere stranger.


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