Pack my bags

After finding out Trump was elected as our next president, I started to pack my bags so that, as he wishes, I could return to my home country…

Which made me begin to wonder, where the hell do I really come from?? 

Oh right, 

My ancestors were brought here against their wishes, 

And at some point, raped by their ‘owners’ {it hurts to even write that}

That’s the only way I can logically account for my great grandmother’s red hair and white skin,

– I doubt the fairy tailed- ‘our mixed love against the world’ is a greater possibility for how his-story actually went down…

So, again I ask myself, where am I going? 

The muddiness of this answer is found much deeper than at ancestry.com…

Internally I am vexed to point fingers and wage war 

Like, literally go to blows with people who have long gone from this earth, 

But who have left their blood of laws, lies and hate to perpetually speak on their behalf. 

I just want to tell them that we are worthy! 

Shake them up and let them know that we are worthy! 

Slap their faces, look them straight in the eyes and shout to them, “WE ARE WORTHY!” 

Wake them up and while trying to catch my breath, yell at them:

WE! 

ARE! 

WORTHY! 

TOO! 

After all, we were all once strangers on this soil…

God! This feels futile! 

These thoughts and frustrations are exhaustive… 

So, for a moment of peace of mind, I walk away from this reality with my bags half packed, 

Back to my smile…

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