If I Can See, Why Can’t You?

It’s hard to grow up when everything drags you down.

It’s hard because of everything negative that is passed onto children, even subconsciously.

It’s hard because the prejudice and fear of an older generation is hurting mine.

It’s hard because it’s not just sticks and stones that can hurt.

It’s hard because we haven’t moved forward as much as we would have hoped.

It’s hard because conformity is expected.


It makes me want to scream when I hear that someone has died because of who they are.

It makes me die inside when I see another teenager living on the street.

It makes me feel the injustice of this world when someone dies because of the color of their skin.

It makes me think that we never truly fought for equality years ago, but are still fighting today.

It makes me bleed when they hide behind a screen to spread hate.

It makes me cry to know that we have been enslaved by stereotyping.


The suppression of my voice makes my lungs gasp for breath.

The suppression of someone’s sexuality because of hate and fear, clouds love.

The suppression of faith because it’s not like one’s own is nauseating.

The suppression of my body because I am not a man makes me feel as if I am less.

The suppression of my freedom because I am “too young to understand”.

The suppression of my tears as I fight to hold them back.


When am I going to see the world without the fear that being different make me less?

When am I going to see strangers love one another because of the differences they have?

When am I going to see understanding that we have free will?

When am I going to see children playing without the miasma of hate in the air?

When am I going to see a mother feeding her child naturally without feeling shamed?

When am I going to see the world finally see each other as humans and not less?


Sometimes the feeling of inadequacy hits hard because I don’t feel “Perfect”.

Sometimes the feeling of panic rises in me when I’m surrounded by strangers.

Sometimes the feeling of fear when I dress because I don’t want to be “asking for it”.

Sometimes the feeling of my body being an object and not my own.

Sometimes the feeling of disbelief because someone was freed for violating another horribly.

Sometimes the feeling of anger because they still see me as less than them, even if I’m human.


I am seventeen and all I see is hate.

I am seventeen and I feel pressure so badly that sometimes I can’t breathe.

I am seventeen and lately my voice has been silenced.

I am seventeen and I have taught myself not to judge the surface of another human being.

I am seventeen and I see past pigmentation, sexuality, religion, and the lies of those before.

I am seventeen and even I can see that we are one race, human.

They say I am too young to understand, but I understand it perfectly.