How My Race Treats Me Because of My Sexuality
They spat. They spit on my name and changed who I really was.. just like that. They
assasinated my character. They need no alternate attack. Its astonishing how ones opinion can
make people cringe at the mention of you. Nevermind what good you've done. Nevermind the
times you've seen them through.
Still they spat. They spit behind my face and let it drip down my back. Rewriting all joys that i've
brought and erasing the lessons i've taught. Like it was slaves I bought. Like I raped their
daughters or bullied their sons or threatened their legacy. Like I signed the decleration of
independence knowing I had no intentions on letting them live independently.
But they still spat. They spit on my dreams and my hopes for decades to come. Though I'm far
from dumb. They put me in a mental bottle and corked me to one day be swallowed like aged
rum. Beneath the scum. Forgetting that I was part of the village it took to raise more than just
some. I was the one. The leader, the feeder, the father, the son.
Copyright © Edward Benson Jr. | Year Posted 2011
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