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It starts slowly, taking over in trenches too minuscule to notice.


It’s a slow illness that plagues societies.


The reaching hands that slowly caress over my body telling me to continue to deal, that it’s all in my head.


Sitting in this chair watching atrocities happen from living my life everyday.


I cannot breathe, I cannot sit in my home, I cannot run, I cannot exercise my second amendment right.


I cannot ask for my humanity, it makes you uncomfortable.


I cannot be who I am because your fear of the unknown will wrap its hands around my neck choking the authenticity out of me.


The songs of my ancestors will me to break free from the hate.


The trauma of my mothers will me to step into my power.


The cries of those before will me to tell the stories they could not.


I am the daughter of slaves that could not be broken. Of immigrants who built this country.

Only to be told they were not worthy to speak.

And yet with your grip trying to suffocate my light, I will continue to speak.

You will NOT silence me or those that come after.

I will have freedom, I will have humanity.

I am freedom.

You cannot silence me.

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