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#MyStoryOutLoud | a project of Advocates for Youth
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Showing 2 posts tagged anonymous
Why I Hate the Day of Silence

The day was unusual because the class was quiet. Our geology teacher, Mr. G usually spent the majority of the class pleading with us to sit down, to be respectful, to pay attention, to be present.

But not this day.

There was girl sitting at the table next to me. She and her friend were chatting quietly, working on our assignment, when she suddenly paused and looked at me.  Worked some more, then looked at me again.

“It’s prom season,” she said loudly. No one really acknowledged her. Our professor glanced up and smiled weakly. Another moment passed.

“Are you going with anyone?” No one responded. She cleared her throat unnecessarily. I looked up, realizing that she had been talking to me. We’d never spoken before. She was one of those girls who trapped the space around her. Once you were in it, you didn’t exist. It was hers.

“I don’t know yet.”

“Why not? Who do you want to bring?”

I honestly hadn’t thought about prom. This school was my 6th high school and i was tired of forming short-term bonds with people. Prom was something that only served to remind me that i was always going to be an other.

“I don’t know.” I said quietly, stealing glances at Mr. G. Why wasn’t he asking us to quiet down?

“You like girls?”

It landed like fine china against concrete. My heart crashed and held mid-pump while the world listened on. Mr. G’s mouth parted, but nothing came. Silence.

“Well do you?” she asked again. My chest began to ache for oxygen and help. I wasn’t out. not to her, not to my family, not to myself. I kept looking at Mr. G.

Silence.

“I don’t know.” I said.

“It’s okay if you do. You look like you do.”

I don’t know if she was trying to be affirming. I wasn’t even mad at her afterwards.

But when I learned about the Day of Silence, what it meant and why it was, I laughed. I can’t help but be cynical.

Silence was the last thing I needed then and they want to create a day for it? I get what it represents, I do. 

I’d rather have a Day of Courage though. For the students and teachers who need it.

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Anonymous Submission:  

About the poet: Cis, gay, black. Detroit born and raised. This is a poem about being black and gay. It is something my white friends–straight, gay, trans, or cis–won’t understand. This is about something my white teachers definitely never understood.

Title: Safe

From school to the gay bars
it is a white space for my black face.

So yes

I’m black

and sometimes proud.

I’m black

and sometimes hopeful.

I’m black

and sometimes brave.


But I’m black

and never safe.

So tell me where and when I can feel safe.
Tell me.

When I’m out in public?
Eric Garner.
What if I was on the floor?
Oscar Grant.
When I’m walking home to my family?
Trayvon Martin.
When I’m taking the trash out with mom watching?
Darius Simmons.
How about when I’m hurt and asking for help?
Renisha McBride.
Maybe when I’m shopping for my newborn baby?
John Crawford.
How about the day of my wedding?
Sean Bell.
How about as a child in a park?
Tamir Rice.
What if I knew my rights?
Sandra Bland.
What if I was a seven year old girl dreaming?
Aiyana Jones.
What if I was in school?
University of Missouri.
What if I was praying in church?
Charleston.

From school to prison bars

there’s no safe space for my black face

And yes

I’m black

and sometimes proud.

I’m black

and sometimes hopeful.

I’m black

and sometimes brave.


But I’m black

and never safe.

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