My Inner Thoughts

"Labeled Boxes" A Free Verse Poem

I'm in a box
It is quiet
Voiceless
Yet
I can't hear my own thoughts
With the millions of other people
Screaming injustices next to me
Pounding on the lid
Sealed off

I'm in a box
In a storage room
Unfamiliar
Yet
Every few years
We are moved
Along with other repackaged items
To a new home
A new storage room
And every other box is unpacked
Except this one

I'm in a box
No one wants to touch
Because they don't want to deal with us
Yet
We still pry
At our cardboard lid
Trying to be heard
Our owners
Our oppressors
Put us in a corner
Locked in a room
So they don't have to hear the voices
Of the victims
From other oppressors
From the ones that fear our
Strength
To live as we were born
Like it was a choice for us

We are the minorities
That make you run
With our peaceful protests
And your profiling cops who point guns
At the poster holding
People of color
At the religious ones
Who want to practice openly
At the lgbt community
Who just wants to love

We are the "other"
The outsiders
Who you fear
Because we're different
And you don't understand
you don't want to
Our issues don't involve you
So you choose to ignore the news
Telling you about another killing
Of the innocent
And when you walk in your bathroom
To wash off the blood that keeps appearing
You thank god that we're still in your basement
In a box
That you're controlling
Oppressing
Ignoring
Because you have the choice to

We are born into our labels
Making it our duty
To never leave home without
Our keys, wallet and our voices
Always in our back pocket
Incase someone decides
It's their right to be offensive
Hiding behind freedom of speech
As if it's an umbrella
With the US of A
Protecting your privilege
But those umbrellas
Tend to be flimsy
Tend to easily break
Under the pressure of
Millions of the oppressed
Standing on top of it
And the divided states of America
Can no longer protect you
As you realize that when you speak
Your words mean nothing
Because your voice
Can't be heard over
The other millions

I am a girl
A panfluid, Jewish woman
Who sits in this box
Waiting for the moment
When I can stop screaming
With my throat hurting
No water in this never ending desert
Deserted
Isolated
Not listened to

I am surrounded by people who want to be listened to
But feel that one sentence
One essay
2 centuries
Isn't a long enough time speaking
To be heard

We all have stories
Slavery
Genocide
Never ending wars
And they cross over between skin colors
And religions
And communities
Because being oppressed is the umbrella
That never did a good job at protecting
We all feel the inequality
No amount of pen to paper
Can erase the amount of victims
Who shed blood for no good reason
Other than that they were different

We are sick of screaming
Sick of it being our duty
To use our voices as weapons
Against the ones that actually do the killing

We are sick of your ignorance
Sick of educating everyone
Who has taken history classes in school
But still haven't learned anything

We are sick of fighting
Sick of hoping that change is coming
Because 200 years of less than ideal progression
Shouldn't be progress worth accepting

We are sick of our own voices
Sick of hearing the same arguments
While we watch history repeat itself
Because nobody listens

We didn't choose to be like this
And neither did our oppressors
We are all born lucky or otherwise
We are all born labeled in boxes
And I'm sick of waiting for the day when ours finally opens