Where I am from . . .

A Poem About Roots. “Where I am from . . .” is published by Dennett in Intimately Intricate.

Smartphone

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Tired of Fighting.

It’s never ending. It never stops. It’s a drain.

I’m just tired of it.

It never really ends does it? A constant struggle to educate people. To be right. To be on point. When does it stop?

I know, I’ll write about it. Again. I’ll call someone out publicly. Again. I’ll make a fuss…again. On and on the merry-go-round keeps on turning. Your new winter clothes aren’t slowing this vessel down.

Look, here’s another person who doesn’t understand white priviledge. Over there is another hero saviour white woman. This one here makes endless jokes. He doesn’t get it either. The world isn’t pretty. Can’t use that term either. How dare anybody call anyone ‘honey’.

Where are all the safe spaces? What’s happened to the world where we are all offended, constantly.

I don’t want THIS to be my reality. I don’t want to reach people worldwide, to be connected on a massive scale, only to find I don’t get along.

Here’s another inappropriate comment that somebody somewhere can write an angry retort to.

I’ve stopped watching the news.

I’ve stopped reading politics. Is the only way forward to bury your head in the sand? Don’t watch now, it’s another lecture about crossing the line, about not seeing the line, about not understanding the line, about not caring ENOUGH about the line.

It’s power. It’s lack of education. It’s whiteness. It’s feminism. It’s men. It’s harassment. It’s the youth. It’s Millennials. It’s Boomers. It’s and it’s and it’s. It never ends.

I can’t be the only one feeling this way.

Nihilism looks very attractive. To not feel the need to be right. To just say to the world ‘I don’t give a crap.’

I get days when I can’t deal with it any longer. That the kids are one decibel too loud. That the wife…

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