'Woke'? What does it even mean? Is it exploding on social media over that viral video showing a racist incident? Is it challenging the status quo in your everyday life? Or is it being oversensitive and angry all the time?
It's more than all of that.
It's constantly seeing racism, patriarchy and capitalists flourish, while you can hardly keep you and yours nourished. It's constantly wanting to speak out but realising you're just a number whose voice won't disrupt the masses' slumber.
I'm tired of being woke.
I want to think a lot less, Be more reckless, And learn to be happy with a lot less.
You can say it's all lessons That every awful thing that happens to us is just "life experience" and that its all some beautiful opera in the end That it all somehow makes sense You excuse away terrible circumstances as "experience to be learned from" as if that somehow justifies the unfairness of it all
I've learned lessons I've never wanted to learn From day one of preschool they've stuck a label on my forehead with the word intelligent that I wear like a brand It's something to be proud of and its something to despise They call me "wise beyond my years" but I'd do anything to unlearn some of these lessons Experience makes you wise but bad experience makes you cynical
I could've gone my whole life not knowing what it feels like to have a boy take scissors to the fabric across my torso in a desperate attempt to go on a field trip with no permission slip I listen to girls cry into the phone through the crackling static about becoming a statistic and I wish I could take that lesson away from them You brand me as smart but I watch myself almost become a number in the percentile every night I walk to my car after work with my pepper spray in my back pocket And now I have a shirt to match my ripped jeans and I have a friend calling me in the dark as she stumbles towards safety, begging me to take her away from these messes we've both found ourselves in
I could've lived eternities filled with yellow filtered happiness and I would've been perfectly okay not knowing about blue illnesses that **** up serotonin, oxytocin and dopamine like a vacuum Ignorance could coat my mind with a sparkling pink sugar if it meant I wouldn't have to feel this alone all the time I would give my left leg in exchange for being able to cluelessly search up the symptoms of depression on the Internet and I would give my right leg to be unable to relate to any of the points made on that bulleted list But instead I write sad poems and I allow my brain to be dissected like that frog in eighth grade as you all try to figure out why I'm so down If you haven't figured it out by now then here I am, in all my supposed worldly intelligence, handing you information about how my mind doesn't work right
I could've spent ages loving and respecting myself without self hatred clouding my vision Even when I wear my glasses and it's all 20/20, you tell me I look like an old soul but all I see when I look in the mirror is a jean size I don't want to be and a face I sometimes don't recognize I taught myself how to hate what the mirror gave back to me after learning what is and what isn't enough I've spent all summer trying to pour confidence into my mouth like cough medicine, trying to unlearn the hate
Couldn't you spare a glance? Couldn't you spare a smile? Couldn't you spare a hey? Couldn't you spare an indicator that you acknowledge my existence?
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