They tell me to be proud,
but little do they know that Pride is a deadly sin and even deadlier if I walk through the wrong alleyway.
They tell me to be confident,
but little to they know that hands-in-my-pockets-hunched-over has hid me my whole life.
They tell me to be loud,
but little do they know that disappearing quietly has kept me alive all these years.
They tell me to speak up,
But little do they know that masking who I am has allowed me to move in this world
As If I Am Free.
They tell me to be proud but pride is confidence and confidence is being loud and being loud is speaking up and speaking up
is
Dangerous? Dangerous.
They tell me it's okay,
they'll be fine,
But how could they know? They haven't
faced the fear of knowing the unlimited know -
- Secrets spilled as blood over middle school halls -
They tell me to be proud.
They tell me to be proud, as if
confirming the masses can fix all that I've broken -
-Silent shards over ***** linoleum -
They tell me to be proud.
They tell me to be proud and I nod,
breaking glass and spilling blood and
maybe one day I will.
Maybe one day I'll speak up
loud and confident,
the terror of facing them left behind, my
shining clean face proud.
But until then,
They tell me to be proud.
They say and tell and demand me to be proud.
They tell me to be proud.
Dangerous? Dangerous.
Deadly? Deadly.
Shards.
Sins.
Pride.
Shoutout to Those People Who Make Me Write This Poem. You know who you are.
