How does a poem so offend before it’s even heard?
How long are people supposed to wait, or beg for approval or inclusion, in places where they are not, nor have they ever been welcomed? How long are they to revere and accept whatever is thrown at them, that is offensive, antagonistic, subpar, or grievous, by design?
When it is discovered that they actually are a force with which to be reckoned, why does that inspire insecurity, outrage, hypocrisy, or fear?
Whose fault is ignorance, in a climate where information is everywhere, easily accessible, yet is frequently suppressed, and poorly communicated, abridged, or re-written altogether? If one wants to know a thing, these days anyway, answers are only a click away.
Why are certain things considered valid, while others are not? If one has never heard of a thing, does that mean it shouldn't be, doesn't exist, or have merit? Who has the right to nix the lived experiences, history, or creativity of others?
Why are some people eager to, or forced to learn extensively of others, while others have no interest, and are not obligated to learn of, nor believe the truth about those around them? What is this thirst to ban or destroy truth? Why are some not directed to the stories and histories of others, the way that others are encouraged, or even forced to ingest and digest theirs?
Why are cries for unity only heard when those who have been minimized, decide to raise their voices, or promote the worth and value of their own?
Does the demonstration of competence, creativity, excellence, goodness, and skill, undermine or blow up a narrative that some have fought to maintain?
Why is the beauty that so many people bring, so harshly criticized and rejected, before it is even seen, heard, or studied?
Why is the offering of some people, automatically deemed unsuitable or unnecessary?
Why is even the least amount of attention paid, or room made for some people seen as an affront, treason, blasphemy, or a lack of patriotism?
Why is it so hard for people to appreciate what others do, as readily as they embrace, implement, and appreciate themselves? Is it because others continue to exist, and thrive, in spite of centuries-old efforts to make them feel unwanted or inferior?
There’s a lot that many have never seen, heard, learned, nor experienced—not because a thing is brand new, obscure, elusive, or exclusive—but because it wasn’t created, taught, or sanctioned by them.
When people don’t bother learning about others, they tend to form warped, ignorant, erroneous, bigoted ideas about them. When people don’t think that there’s anything about others that they are bound to regard or applaud, they view the contributions of others as fiction, or worthless, threatening competition, fit to be cast out and destroyed.
Why should people who don't care about you, or see you as a citizen, brother, sister, neighbor, or fellow human being, be burdened with what you bring to the table? After all, isn't it their table? To hear them tell it, they discovered tables! Since when did you have a seat? Don't you need their permission to sit?
No.
The truth is, you've always had a seat. You crafted not only it, but the table under which it is pushed, the floor on which it stands, the room, and the building in which they've all been placed. You've just finally decided to occupy it--proudly, un-apologetically, and rightfully.
The insecure and hateful, to whom you have mistakenly ceded power, need never think you matter, applaud your heroes, cite your innovation, nor sing your songs. Their opinions and rejection should no longer affect how you feel about yourself, your gifts, talents, skills, or creations. With the precision of an archaeologist on a dig, tell your stories. Raise your songs.
Sing your anthem, with all of the gusto and confidence you can. It exists for a reason. If those, who are so vehemently opposed, would simply read the words, and recognize the truth, hope, and wisdom in each line, they'd stop protesting, and acknowledge the underlying reason for their insecurity and shame.
If they’d only read the words, they’d repent. They’d regret their hardened hearts, and unfounded fear, and loudly, but humbly, sing them, too.
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