The Witch of Blackbird Pond, banned.
Why?
Because they didn’t agree with you?
I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, banned.
Because you didn’t like what they said?
The Handmaid’s Tale, banned.
Because you wanted to dictate our information,
manipulating us to only believe in your ideas
and block out all others?
Fahrenheit 451, banned.
Because you knew that if they spoke,
others would turn against you?
The Great Gatsby, banned.
Because you want others to believe another way?

Tiger Eyes, banned.
Because they weren’t suitable for you
or your young child?
The Hunger Games, banned.
Because you deem it inappropriate?
The Giver, banned.
Because you don’t want your child to start reading
something that you didn’t like?
And Tango Makes Three, banned.
Because you don’t think LGBTQ people
do not deserve the right to express their ideas?
To Kill a Mockingbird, banned.

It’s my thirteenth birthday.
Today.
I hadn’t even realized it
until my sister yelled it in my face.
It’s funny how such an important date
can become so trivial during this time.
But I suppose I should make the best of it,
it’s the small things that matter after all.

I remember waking up wide-eyed
and getting ready for a party or trip to Disney.
But I wake up now,
groggy and slow,
unhurried, mumbling as I flip through my clothes.
I couldn’t find any that I wanted to wear
so I wore my pajamas to the living room,
throwing a “good morning” over to my parents and sister.

I remember the gifts that poured in from friends and family
each one carefully wrapped
with hand-written cards attached to the present.
But I open the door now,
to find Amazon boxes stacked high in the doorway.
I drag them in, one by one.

I remember eagerly tearing at the wrapping paper,

I remember the last time we met face-to-face,
when we still talked without a mask,
when we had less than six feet between us.
No, further back,
seven months ago.
I remember the principal standing on the podium
in the middle of the grand chapel,
Christmas decorations still hanging from the ceiling.
I remember her words,
“We will have to go remote for school
for at least two weeks”.
I remember the students,
and how the whole room stirred.

Each word our principal said
were like drops of water in a lake,
creating ripples that disturbed the calm waters.
Grumbles of dismay,
mumbles and whispers.
The chapel suddenly felt dim,
dark despite the stained glass window
and the chandelier that hung from the middle.

Two weeks.
It felt like eternity then.
But it feels like two minutes now.
I remember walking to the bus stop with you.

You owe me.
Everything you have ever known,
everything you have ever cared about
relies on me.
You owe me,
and so do your petty friends and family,
every single one of them.

And yet you treat me in this manner.
And yet you shun me like a plague.
And yet you avoid me like the mouse avoids the cat.

When I come knock on your door,
you run away.
You throw me out.
When I walk in your dreams,
you holler and shout in anger and fear.
When I come pay you a visit,
you skin me alive.

Skin me alive so I have nothing left,
but a skull and white bones.
When you feared my skeleton,
You threw a pitch-black robe on me
so I could hide underneath it.
And when you did so,
you grew traumatic.
In your dreams you painted me as the monster,
the destroyer, the murderer.
You said I tortured all my enemies,
and shoved a scythe in my hands.

My little sister told me that cats and fish can never be friends. So I drew this just to prove her wrong XD. On a deeper note, though, I also drew this to tell her that, although some people may tell you something is impossible, you can always make it possible. By creating.
 

Police are coming,
Sirens wailing.
The white man stands tall, unafraid, defiant.
The black man flees in the shadow.
Because the white man knows he will leave in handcuffs,
but the black man knows he will be left on the ground,
blood flowing from the bullets that penetrated his black skin.

We praise the white man,
"A good man!" we say, "At least he owns up to his mistakes."
And yet we blame the black man's instinct to flee
as a result of their cowardice and culpable heart.
The white man has made an error in judgement,
the black man is a criminal who deserves his disdain.

And then George Floyd was killed.
May 5th, 2020.
Eight minutes, forty six seconds.
Half the time of Martin Luther King's speech, I Have a Dream.
All of America turned over.

Or so it seems.
"Black Lives Matter!" we cry,
We blame our racism on our uneducated ancestors.

School is coming and everyone is suddenly busy. Wrap up the summer homework, stroll through Target’s Back To School section and check the school roster. Summer is gone, along with the lazy mornings and late wake-up times. You can hear the thud as an alarm clock is placed on your bedside table and papers flipped as syllabus’ are read over. When you wake up in the morning, you linger around lazily, still in the summer state of mind, and slowly get ready for school. You get in the car and, when you get to school, you see your friends. You laugh and chat about idle subjects, and slowly adjust as you ease into the school state of mind. This is the routine of a normal school starting.