Them
The reflection I see upon myself is one of constant change
I am a woman,
One filled with rage.
Life is tough to the core, That is no secret, But being a woman of color adds a lot more
No matter what I do, It never seems to be enough By this time, I think I’m about through
Throughout my youth, They thought they knew my truth, A daughter of a terrorist, Birthed from a second-class womb
They say they know what it’s like to be me as they stare from the outside of this box with their pale skins refusing to hear my plea. Blue and green eyes stare as they say, “Man, I really wish I had your hair.”
I’ve grown to despise the lightness in my skin
It lets them think I am one of them
And my patience has grown extremely thin
I grew up in a house with no hate
It was filled with love and compassion
There are no reasons to berate
We welcomed them into our home As they flashed their Rolex and Gucci And charmed us with their lovely tone
Enjoying our barbeque on our lawn Even though they are convinced all Muslims, Like my father, have a bomb
A belief the beholder has, not knowing how ignorant it is, Has brought hate and hurt into our lives Because that’s just “show biz”
The belief was expressed, As they branded my father a killer and my mother a drug dealer, This had caused me distress
They pushed it aside Said they’re just protective, it should be flattering No need to hurt their pride No need to stop my heart from shattering
I am forced to accept What they’ve given to my family, The disrespect That I can’t talk about candidly
Baffled, I try to teach But they didn’t want to learn I still tried but I knew it was too far a reach
They sat there in their plaid shirts and khaki pants Claiming they care about us Until we rise to defend our dance
When will it end? Surrounded by the bright complexions around me, I watch as my background, my culture, my life, becomes nothing but a trend
As I grew, My box did too Like a turtle to its shell But my box gives me only hell
I wiggle and scream and cry in this box
But they had riddled it with locks
They put me down and label me crazy
The stereotypical Latina
I correct them but they claim;
They won’t learn because they are “too lazy”
Too lazy to learn my name,
Too lazy to learn my culture,
Too lazy to respect me
Too lazy
I am a woman,
And I am sick of this world around me.
Helpless and hopeless
I watch as they walk away
Knowing there’s nothing else I can do or say
To help.
Suicide isn’t an option, It won’t teach them. “Thoughts and prayers” Will be said but nothing will change.
Activism isn’t trendy, I am a “noise in the system” A “whiny feminist who isn’t grateful for what has been given to her already”
I am risking my life, education, family and more When I try to fight, Just ask the families they tore.
Sara Booeshaghi is a Puerto Rican/ Iranian artist located in West Palm Beach, Florida. She is a senior at Oxbridge Academy where her growth as an artist began. Being an activist, Sara has always poured her beliefs into her art whether it be photography or writing. She always aspires to share her message with others.