Stupid white girl.
We are not allowed to do anything.
We're prim and proper, white girls.
We are not allowed to fight back.
Put us in our place, white girls.
We are not allowed real work.
We still want our twenty three cents back.

The child of fair skin and blue eyes.
But with all my female privilege,
Came a nasty stamp on my body.
Like a watermark.
FEMALE.
I have heard that when a woman looks in the mirror, she sees a woman.
But when a man looks in the mirror, he sees a human.

Even with that watermark, our pale skin is used as a canvas.
And everyone else has been handed the tools to color in our curves.
Covering us in blue and black and purple and red.
Redrawing our minds so they cannot process the discrimination,
Painting over our tears so our feelings can be buried,
Manufacturing open legs when you want them,
Closed when you don't.
Erasing the lips we use to speak out,
Erasing the eyes we use to see all of this.

You think just because you held the brush,
Just because you created this monstrosity of a "masterpiece"
You get to claim ownership of this piece of artwork
That you blatantly disregard
Is my BODY.

The "fe" you tack onto "male"
Does not stand for Free Entry.
The "wo" you tack onto "man"
Does not stand for Wipe Out.

Women are barely able hold a pencil.
I was lucky to hold one long enough to draw myself
A conscience, a backbone, legs to stand on, and a mind.
We were only taught how to use the back end of that pencil
To erase our mouth and keep the secrets.
But these days the secrets are keeping themselves.

I will not be put in a glass case
You will not charge admission
To have people come and analyze me.
Buy me.
Give me value.
Categorize me.
Preserve me the way you created.

You are no artists.
You are vandals.

I have this stack of
letters that I saved just for
you but there are no stamps
nor envelopes nor
mailmen that can assist me
in my fifth or sixth
attempt to reach
you. There are no
landlines nor roads nor
rivers that span as far
as the distance between
us that ties us
together. My legs
itch my back stings my
eyelids stick but
my heart stands
still taped to the
reverse of my
letters for you.

in a valley of apathy between mountains of content and success
i can shout to the tops of both but lets face it, i'm depressed
no i didn't fall off a cliff, though i wished i did
i must have the world revolve around me, god forbid

i'm a low life in a low place, my only daily reminder
counting the remainder of my years before i pass
"come a bit sooner" i say, hoping this day is the last
of the many hours in bed, too scared to even move,
hearing my heart pound through my chest,
isn't that the best? no, i only want to die,
i really cant say why, its why i was born,
i'm not part of the social norm, i'm low-headed
but the mountaintops are still dreaded
when i start my long hike of scrapes and falls

the people up top i call my friends think they know it all,
how to go a night without wanting to bawl
your eyes out in a fit of excitement
they name depression my indictment
they call me the worst type of sinner
that when i look in the mirror i want to be thinner
so i starve and starve and starve again
never to win, it'll only pile up and never end

they were screaming "swallow your pride"
but i was too scared i'd choke
the phrases they say are a record that broke
the needle keeps cracking cracking cracking cracking
like my self esteem that they're attacking attacking attacking
i'm shutting down, i want no more of this
if my ignorance is bliss, then i'm going to the heaven you call hell

ill see the day where there is no more
where getting out of bed is no longer a chore
and my internal screams are the soundtrack to your nights
i know that might scare you
it just might
but you'll see the day where i don't have to
be in pain from the day i was born
we can rewrite everything i've felt
when you know about the nights i've dealt