The following piece was written for the Literary Taxidermy contest, but I ended up submitting another piece instead.
124 was spiteful and was 124 too many.
What can I say sitting in the privilege that I wear everyday, invisible, I blend in with my surroundings. I do not catch the eye of uniformed judges while running, shopping, or driving.
I am angry. My heart breaks. Injustice is what gets me out of bed in the morning. It’s the fuel to my rage. Buried under the weight of history.
Wearing their blood soaked shoes are heavy and weigh me down when I run for my life. But I never get far because I keep getting brought down to the ground. I become pavement. I am the asphalt trodden upon. The minerals in me are the minerals in you are the minerals in the road. But rather than reaching out to me as a brother you step on me grinding me into dust. You are scared of yourself because you cannot control me so you put me in a cage. You take away my books. You take away my future. You take away my breath. Your fear is not of me. Your fear is your position in power. You are in the cage. You cannot see the world. My brothers and sisters are your brothers and sisters. When you hurt me you hurt yourself.
These blood soaked shoes are not mine but I will not give them back to you. It is not your burden alone. I did not build this but I will be part of tearing it down.