The Noise of Silence

Why me?

I do nothing to them.

Why me?

Is it such a crime to be different?

Why me?

Must everyone abide by unspoken laws?

According to color?

Why?

The black night can not contain light.

And the white light can not contain darkness.

The reptile can not fly and the birds can not grow scales.

The blacks can not be whites and the whites can not be blacks.

These are universal truths

Universal truths have no exceptions.

My name is Aquarius

And I am one of the  unknown exceptions.

 

I am called "black but white".

A name that was branded onto my skin

A name full of such burning hatred and utter disgust

For someone who chose to be different

I chose not to wear hair that is not my own

I chose not to speak loudly with attitude

I chose not to goof off in school

I chose not to be promiscuous

I chose not to use the n-word

I chose not to be the bad kid

I chose to breakout of  the stereotypes

The stereotypes that people label us with

The labels that read "easy" , "dumb" , and "violent...

But yet I am put down

By the very same people the stereotypes are used for

It's as if I've been labled with the red letter A

Except for me it is the white letter O

 

I want to scream out against the innjustices

I want to scream out against the hypocrisy

I want to scream.

But I do not dare scream.

 

Church 

My serenity

My place of peace

Nothing can happen to me

I got here to pray

That is when I meet John

My best friend.

There is nothing but complete darkness inside the silent sanctuary

Except for one candle light

Carried by a young white man

Whi looked no older than me

His eyes were bright like twinkling stars

His smile was suminous like the bright moon

But his clothes spoke of age

And physical weariness

With a yellowed shirt and one broken clasp

On his mud spattered overalls

Along with his unnaturally pale glow

I remember his first word was 

"Speak"

And that is when I poured out my soul

In the darkness that held a light.

 

And he heard me

He heard my silence.

 

I saw him once every full moon

I watched him grow

Angry

Like a raging fire.

He watched me grow 

Silent

Like a dying secret.

He'd yell

He'd scold

He'd help

Whenevr I brought up the injustices

He hated the abusers

He hated the name callers

But he hated how I said nothing most of all.

 

I wanted to explain

I wanted to make excuses

I wanted to blame them

But I said nothing

Because it was my fault.

 

It was my fault for letting it continue.

It was my fault for being quiet.

It was my fault for saying nothing.

And I cried in realization.

That all I had chosen to be 

I had not chosen to be free.

A person can only be enslaved

Only if they choose to be enslaved

And live in the fear

They choose not to fight against.

 

I was tired.

I was angry. 

I was dissapointed.

With myself.

 

All John could say was

"Learn from this."

 

Then the insults came

Like burning acidic rain

By the lawmakers

And the executers

Which in a whole were one

Saying

"You sound like a white chick"

"Act like a white chick"

"Fake ass bitch"

"Go kill yourself"

"Ain't shit"

”Not black”

”Oreo”

And it goes on

And on

And On.

 

Until I spoke my silence

 

Why label me?

Because I refuse to play a part in society's rules

Of how a color's personality should be?

Society's rules of how to be black?

Most likely by people who aren't even black

You say I am ignorant

But you all are blindly ignorant

Someone of wisdom would know 

Color isn't a personality

But you've been brainwashed

By the TV

The people

And the "Universal Truths".

If they told you today

your color is a cannibal

Would you eat every man, woman, and child?

Just because you were told that?

As if it were a truth?

I am the black sheep among the white flock

The black sheep who knows

That Black doen't always mean danger

That White doen't always mean purity

That Red doesn't always mean savagery

That Yellow doesn't always mean wisdom

When it comes to people

The only reason I am persecuted is because I chose to close my ears

To all the "personalities" 

Of Society.

 

And then it stopped

The people stopped executing

The people stopped making laws

I was finally happy.

 

But sad

 

Ever since then

John was gone.

 

 

 

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741