I’m trapped in settler-hell, constantly profiled any time I leave the house, and am expected to be polite and cordial at all times to said settlers who pull this shit. Then I come online and have to deal with even more settler horseshit from people who’re supposed to be my ‘comrades’. Or at least, people who want me to see them that way when there is nothing shown nor proven regarding their works.
And there’s always going to be that constant lurking worry in the back of my head that if I leave my home solo dolo, I might never come home if a settler pig decides he doesn’t like the look of the phone in my hand, the cane keeping me balanced, or just the texture of my hair.
I genuinely despise this life. I don’t know how to love the crucible the god that made me put me in. Even the fleeting moments of beauty carve another piece out of my heart because I have to remember it won’t last, and as soon as that moment is over, the metaphorical, spirit-withering flames of the settler-hell in which I live will engulf me once again. I can’t tell if it’s meant to purge my impurities, or if it’s just meant to render me useless slag anymore.
Amerika, where else? Land of the white, trap of the enslaved.