When The Law Shut Down Your Dreams

In a world where I am Christen Kuikoua, Yet each day, I question if it's truly me. I can act, sing, and model with passion, But my dreams face a relentless decree. Every aspiration met with a crushing sound, As though someone's there to pull me down. It's a daily struggle, a living hell, Where critiques and judgments persist and swell. Like You sing Like a Toad they proclaim, Or like Your Face Looks Like a Baboon, the shame. "You're too fat to be a model," they sneer, Injecting poison, stoking my fear. I long to break free from this binding chain, To live without worry, without disdain. Why must every word and comment sting? Is it my race that causes such a fling? Proud of the black hue, I didn't choose, But why does the world harbor so much abuse? Can't we exist without constant dread, Without fearing the moment we leave our bed? As a young teen, insults weigh heavy, Trying to navigate a world that's unsteady. Yearning to find my place and voice, Yet hatred makes it an unbearable choice. What can I do, what can I say, To be heard, supported, to find my own way? Why does it feel like I don't deserve life? Am I not human, deserving of strife? The pain cuts deep, like a sword to the chest, Critics abound, making me second-guess. Creating my own content, using my own art, Yet accusations fly, tearing me apart. Too young for social media, they claim, Or a cyberstalker turns my life into a game. Fake police threats and accusations unfair, No one believes, and it feels like a snare. Broken and shattered, lost in the debris, Yearning to vanish, to find some decree. Can someone lend a helping hand, Guide me through this desolate land?