To Tell You The Truth

Contrary to popular belief, I'm a human fucking being. Don't let my demeanor fool you. Deep inside I feel a rage that could melt the flesh from your bones. A sadness that could tear your heart in half. Beneath all that, a beauty that would make you cower. What I present outside is a survival mechanism. I'm working on becoming the real me. I'm processing the grief, the anger, the trauma, so that I can heal. So that I can be more fully alive. So that I can pull the parasite out of my mind, bloody, kicking and screaming, and drop it back on your doorstep where it belongs. So I can leave you to clean up your fucking mess. I'm processing all this shit so I can want my healing more than I want the conflict that you created. The work I'm doing is for ME first. But luckily for you, the added benefit of my healing work is me not tearing your fucking head off. I could burn this all to the ground and call it right. But unlike you, I'm not so desperate to be right that I'd twist and distort morality to suit my aims. I'm learning to deal with the truth as it is. The truth about me. The truth about you. The truth about the world. The realities of life and death. I'm not afraid of the truth like you are. You fear the truth so much, you've built for yourself (and everyone else) a world made of lies. That's why your world is so damn fragile. The only thing you value as much as your precious lie is your precious ego. It allows you to deny your own soul. If you admit that you have soul, if you admit that I do too, you'd have to live up to a much higher standard. And aspiring to something that resembles actual morality scares you shitless. So you've built a playground for your lower nature. A place where your tyranny and cowardice can run amuck like somebody's bad ass child named Trevor. You call it the land of the free and the home of the brave. I call it a massive delusion. I call you delusional. I call you stolen land, stolen people and stolen profit from stolen labor. I call you scalps torn from human heads. I call you sacred artifacts encased in glass like some sort of cultural zoo. I call you bodies huddled together sleeping on solidified human waste two feet deep. I call you muscles detached from the bone from extreme exertion. I call you strange fruit on poplar trees, tied to the back of a truck, in the streets, in churches, on playgrounds, on front stoops, in my own damn house. I call you urban renewal also known as we don't like your kind. I call you babies torn from mother's arm's. I call you grown adults regarded as children. I call you cultures turned into opinions. I call you bodily features turned into caricatures. I call you men castrated, dismembered and burned alive. I call you infant skulls crushed, women's genitals defiled and prodded in the name of so-called science. I call you so-called science. I call you arbitrary classifications assigned to physical characteristics and then pathologized. I call you alternative facts. I call you angry mobs thirsty for blood. I call you nooses becoming guns, tasers and nightsticks. I call you white hoods hiding under red hats. I call you smug satisfaction. I call you disingenuous pleas for unity. I call you comfort prioritized over virtue. I call you fragile, sensitive and volatile. I call you privilege weaponized. I call you Karen, BBQ Becky, Permit Patty, Chad Crow and that lady with the fucked up eyebrows looking like something out of a Jordan Peele film. I call you the real terrorist. I call you indoctrination. I call you colonization of the mind. I call you cognitive dissonance dissuaded with lies. I call you denial with a vengeance. I call you vacant empathy. I call you smug satisfaction. I call you foolishness masquerading as intellectualism also known as pretentious prejudice. I call you humans made less than human. I call you white Jesus with blonde hair, blue eyes and the colored gods of old religions crushed beneath his feet. I call you the devil himself. I call you misery. They say you love company and I understand their meaning. I understand why you don't want me to heal. Because when I do, you'll be miserable all by yourself. You'll have to face yourself. With no one to distract you. You'll have to face your sins with no one on whom to blame them. You'll have to assume responsibility for yourself. You'll have to admit that even though you accused me of being less than human it was YOU who chose to behave like a savage. You'll have to make a choice; either evolve into an actual empathetic human being or remain as you are now and go extinct. I see you. I know you. I know you better than you know yourself. All you know about yourself is the lie. The charade. If you knew what I know, you'd laugh until you started to sob. You'd sob until you started to scream. You'd scream until you started to tremble. You'd tremble until you vomited up all the bile you've been subsisting on. You'd eat the bile and vomit it up again. Then you'd just lie there teetering on the edge of life and death just to punish yourself for what you've done and you still wouldn't feel satisfied. And in that hell of your making, everything you've ever done to me would happen to you. Then, after all that, lying at rock bottom, you'd see a glimmer of the soul you've hidden from yourself your entire life. You'd see that your soul is connected to mine.You'd be humbled and overwhelmed by the beauty of our spirits and you'd be sorry that you tried so hard to separate yourself from me. You'd take it upon yourself to be better. To live in a way that does right by your soul and the souls of others. And for the first time, you'd be truly alive. I hope that for you. But to tell you the truth, my healing doesn't depend on it.