TW: sexual assault,

I hope the ancestors of these lands feel justice one day. I hope that one day, claimed lands will be reclaimed. I don’t know what that looks like, but I know that it feels wrong to consider us “right.” I do not take ownership of this land. I am a settler. I wish I knew what lands called me theirs. Some of us are children of peoples’ american dream. They fell for the idea of making it. We did not. The older I get, the more resigned I am from the label of American.

To set one thing straight, I am not talking about your personal life. When I say we need to do something different for this country, I am not talking about your participation in the institution. You are a pawn in a capitalist society. Your son that joined the Army at 18 and died over seas is not the person I am protesting when I choose to sit for the flag. I am protesting the people far before us. The people who raped and murdered thousands of people for their resources. For interrupting their way of life. But you can’t join slave patrol and expect to be a good person.

Fireworks make me mad. They tense up my body and make me suck all the air out of the roof of my mouth so my tongue sticks. People who use fireworks are usually gross. That is such a gross generalization, but it really is how I feel. There is nothing good about fireworks except they stimulate the brains of people who do not understand the environmental effects of things like explosives. They are dirty and always end up in the streets. Fireworks are nasty, and I said what I said.

Red white and blue is a childhood memory. I look at these three words and feel an emptiness where my childhood patriotism used to live. I am no longer proud to be an american. I was once proud when I was in elementary school and had red white and blue days and shit like that. How bizarre to teach kids to say they are proud americans when they have no clue of what is taking place within our capitalist society. I cannot believe I used to say I was a proud american while wearing clothes (that are allowed in this country) that were made by the hands of small children and women who are exploited for work.

This is coming off very aggressive. Let me take a step back. This country is weird. It is weird, because it is my home. I grew up here. I was born here. I was not meant to be here. A lot of us werent. So what do we do? Where do we go? How do I give it back? How can I stay and not be in your way? I want to be here with you. But, I just dont belong.



like the fruit