When I was a little girl,
The world seemed like it could do no wrong.
No harm could come to me and the worst that could happen was scraping my knee while racing my sister up the stairs to get to the shower first.
When I was a little girl,
Labels didn’t exist.
I didn’t see walls being built to keep out those of a different religion, the color of a person’s skin seemed so superficial and irrelevant, and a person’s sexuality did not define them.
When I was a little girl,
I wasn’t judged by how pretty I was. I wasn’t scrutinized for how well I could wear a short skirt, how small my waist was, or what makeup technique I used.
People weren’t persecuted because of their sexuality, race, religion, gender, ethnicity, class, or political views.
When I was a little girl,
My innocent blue eyes saw the world exactly as it wasn’t.
When I was 11, Labels with a capital ‘L’ slapped me across the face.
They stick to people like flies stick to spilled honey,
Put there by those who are desperately trying to peel off their own Labels and adhere them to others.
People carry Labels like spare change, and their victims are nothing but a parking meter on the side of the road.
Coin after coin, Label after Label is dropped into their hollow chests
So the coin carriers can lighten their pockets
So they don’t hear the change rattling, reminding them of their own imperfections.
When I was 12, I learned that judgement clouds our vision like dust on a windy day.
It clogs our throats and when we cough and spit, all that comes out is insults.
We live in an era where walls are built to barricade those who don’t meet the standards of our “white supremacy”,
The ones who wear Labels on their chests bigger than the hearts they wear on their sleeves.
When I was 13, I was programmed by society to think that there is a social “norm”;
White skin, Christian,
If you’re not American then you’re an alien.
But let me tell you, if you choose to think you’re better than someone for ostensible reasons, then you have chosen smallness over greatness and have shrunken yourself far below where you consider others to be.
When I was 14, I learned of gun laws and everyone is an unlicensed carrier.
People load the guns in their mouths with hate and pull the trigger, killing hundreds
Of those confident feelings we used to feel looking in the mirror every day
Hundreds of the thoughts that you are beautiful and smart and capable and valuable
Putting a bullet through the mindset that you can conquer the world regardless of how you look or who you love or where you’re from.
These are the deaths that go unnoticed or at least uncared for.
When I was 15 I thought, “peel back all these layers and you’re left with a skeleton that looks no different from that of every other person on the planet.”
Everyone’s skeleton bares its teeth, wearing a permanent smile to hide the hurt
But these bones can only take so many sticks and stones.
We’re all the same in that we all have our differences, yet we survive and thrive off the idea that we are somehow above others.
We roll around in filthy bitterness and smear our dirt-stained hands over the foreheads of our victims, tracing words that describe who we think they are.
“Gay”
“Sl*t”
“Terrorist”
Now I’m 16, and I know that
Eventually the parking meters will rust, buckle under the weight of all the coins stuffed into their shells, and crumble into dust.
But unfortunately for them, the rich never run out of coins.