I love my language.
I love the ebb and the flow of the sounds
That it uses in conversation.
I love the silly lines and waves and patterns
That make up on the page the words I manipulate.
I love that 1 symbol can take the place of three
And the user barely even identifies it.
I don’t love how it is used.
Vulgar words sprawled in people’s minds,
Dripping off their fat tongues,
More than expletives like shit and fuck
Not just prick, bastard, cunt;
But nigger. Faggot. Tranny.
And writing out these words causes
Phantom pains in my trembling hands.
It is not my place to say these words
But it is more my place than theirs;
Those snivelling cowards who believe
That their faith is worth more than precious life,
That they deserve rights not bestowed upon all.
I am proud of my language,
But not my culture.
I know the way my people, the people who share my colour of skin,
Have sullied our language;
Have used our precious words to
Issue commands that killed thousands,
To torture and torment the innocents who do not deserve such hate.
The straight white men who always tower over the other races,
The other genders and sexualities,
Who command their troops based on orders sent down from on high
But on high is just more of Them.
And I know you aren’t automatically nice because you are black or because you’re gay;
It is possible to be transphobic and bisexual,
Racist and aromantic,
And any combination of learned trait
And genetic default;
Not fault, but de fault.
These are very separate things
And I know that now.
But it is more than unfair to restrict people
Based on their skin or their
I know how politicians of all nations
Deploy my beautiful language
As though it were weaponry.
With cruel silver tongues,
They shape words into missiles
In order to hurt the people who truly are my people;
Not just in colour of skin,
Or based on our sex,
But in spirit of heart and biological race.
They have forgotten that there is only humanity,
That we are more than just black/white, wrong/right
We are human as we are flawed
And you who dare to claim you do the work of your ever loving god are worse than flawed
You are prideful.
Happy to claim your flaws,
You see them as positive aspects
Of your divine humanity,
And the twisting of my mother tongue hurts us all,
Whether you feel the pain now or on your deathbed.
I know it is more than words that have hurt our people,
But the actions that have killed so many,
Were based on orders spoken in a language
Used by Shakespeare to write sonnets,
And children to scribble their names as they learn who they are and
You hurt more than us.
You hurt the future.