EDIT: After noticing that reading my journals seriously affects my state of mind, for the purposes of future me’s mental health, it’s necessary to preclude this with a note: this is NOT healthy. This is NOT ok. Furthermore, this poem is wallowing in self-pity, self-hatred, and is furthermore self-absorbed, and is perhaps even more damaging because it’s self-aware of itself: self-critical does not mean valid. Acknowledging and teasing out flaws and unhealthy thoughts just to let them sit there is not justification. Read this as a snapshot of a state of mind, not one to ever let yourself empathize with again, or maybe: read this as a warning flag, if you ever empathize with it. Remember: empathy. Have empathy.
sorry not sorry, but really actually I’m so sorry.
I’m sorry that I turn every conversation into systemic discourse.
I’m sorry that I can’t see a movie without talking
about the depiction of poc and whatever else
shit that poops the party when
your white friends try to connect with me
by bringing up the tale of genji after I say the word
I don’t have the guts
to let a silence hang.
often I forget who I am
often forgetting is utterly impossible
you are everything I
couldn’t be 5 years ago and somehow
I like you
I love you
I might loathe
loave — shh, that’s an inside joke —
how public is this supposed to be?
who do I write for anyway?
these are the questions I don’t want the answer to:
this is the place I choose to publish because I know you won’t ever read it.
this is where I go to hide from you
because after trying to pull you in I’m realizing that some places,
as I’ve always known, are inaccessible
I didn’t know they could be inaccessible to you
I’m glad I have something that is inaccessible to you
— shh, that’s the disgusting part of me —
— oops, did I just write that? —
but this place is on sale, discounted; that’s
the difference; my places
are always at a markdown; don’t tell me
otherwise, I won’t believe it. safe spaces are for
people who need to retreat, because
you never need to retreat —
— oh god, see what I do to you? what I make you? —
here’s what I can’t stand: that I have the ability to project infinite
privilege onto another human being. who cares
if I’m right some of the time?
who cares if I’m backed systemically,
theoretically, epistemologically, who
cares if I can rehearse the critique
and anti-critiques of in
until I’m blue, yellow, black, red, white,
white, white, Oops
I gave it away didn’t you know that you fell in love
with me only because I’ve spent my entire life trying to fade to white,
does that conflict with my daily ramblings, Oh Shit
this is something I never ever want
to think about: one-way internalized racism
can generate two-way love
that’s shockingly, beautifully, terrifyingly
real, well let’s be honest here
deep down I hope it comes out to white
I still hope I come out to white
of course I think about this every day
the only thing I ever wanted was to write
my experience as beauty and not pity