Decolonization

Sometimes it is words. Words from lips. Lips that have always spoken. But never listened to.

As I am privileged to be me.

Not knowing how it really feels to be her.

She with the spoken words. She with body and soul.

As I cried for her, knowing that she did too.

Mad at Passing. Ashamed of Acts. Cursed by Ancestors.

May the privileged hold her history.

As they want to free , free what must never be forgotten.

So the wind blows in different directions. It is only some of what we move.

I state that she must be us.

And I want to be her.

But I cannot state these words. I don't want to take what is hers.

That history already stole.

Berried under time.

Berried under forgotten.

The weakness of an apology for so much that needs to be discovered.

The privileged knows that the deed is time-traveling.

It is the way of digging into anxious times.

Into the forgotten movements.

As humans are untouchable. Humans will live. Humans will hear. Humans will speak. Humans come back for you , they won´t forget.

Cause you are non of above. You are you. You are me. You are them You are they You are time You are forgotten You are the act You are the oppalegy You are the shame You are the silence

But you will never be the carrier of everything you are not and what she has been.

I will never be the carrier of everything I am not and what she has been.