Well I'm lonely like you're lonely but only cause it's thrown me like it's thrown you I don't own you, and my darling you don't own me. It's kicking and it's yelling and it's bruising and it's swelling. But the writing is on the wall and we both know what it's been telling us to do. Well I'm crying and you're crying into silent salty lakes. The road has turned to ice and we haven't any breaks, so while the wall keeps getting closer I fear it's too late not to break our hearts.
Wednesday, May 29, 2013
How can you be so self righteous as to think no one else can suffer as you do?
I get so tired of hearing people screaming their negativity claiming that it helps their cause.
Because fixating on the abuser will somehow bring back the innocence of your voice.
Its frustrating when you see people set back their own movement with words of cynical hatred of the people who push them down.
As if you aren't giving them exactly what they look for when they hit you.
Rather than fight to ease the pain of our fellow suffers we scream retribution for the people who are burning themselves at the stake.
As if revenge could ever be satisfying.
You can inject them with arsenic baby doll but that won't ever win you your self respect.
How can we presume to call ourselves survivors if we are drowning in the quest to punish?
You can spend your whole life looking for someone to blame and trying to make them pay their dues but it will never give you the satisfaction.
Point your fingers and scream until your lungs give out but try not to pay attention to the shackles you have helped them fasten to your wrists.
I am tired of hearing the words "Check your privilege".
People have decided that because I have a sum of crumpled green paper to my name I am somehow exempt from the suffrage of humanity.
Because the amount of dollars or pounds or euros are assumed to determine whether or not you get raped.
Or contract an eating disorder.
Or get diagnosed with cancer.
Or suffer indescribable agonizing pain.
It's a disgusting world we live in where we can't even talk about our pain without fear of mockery or accusation of fabrication for sympathy.
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