on days like these

on days like these, it’s hard to feel whole—almost like the world wants you to feel broken. in your heart, you know that there is nothing you can do, a million miles away from the people that came before you. you try to control the noise because the silence calms your nerves. yet still every headline reads bloody violence. you wonder if it’s even safe to walk the halls of your own school, sometimes. your parents carry rage and disappointment towards their alma mater for the lackadaisical response. the horror that has built upon centuries of hatred has not stopped. you see the tears well in the eyes of those you see upon your screen as they receive masses of hateful, misinformed comments on their social media pages. your heart aches for them. you know their hearts ache for you, too. you wonder why the officials meant to protect your people have hurt so many others in retaliation. you wonder why nobody seems to care that we are all people. we are all the same on the inside. still, they embrace hate like a badge of honor. you don’t understand why.

on days like these, you wonder why nobody has so much as asked you what you’re feeling. you wonder if they ever will. you ache, and you hold back your oceans of tears that are bound to pour out sometime. you wonder what would have happened to your childhood playmate had he not gotten out. you wonder how your mom’s friend feels to have her son back in her arms, when so many others may never get that chance again. you want to scream, but you don’t want to sound like you don’t care. you care about the other side as much as any other person would, and yet they couldn’t care less about your people. they don’t want to know about your people. they are fine knowing that they are safe here, even if you might not be. you don’t know if you’re safe. you’re more than scared. you’re terrified. you walk on eggshells. you wait for someone to come along who understands. you know their names. you haven’t seen them. you wonder if they are feeling this way, too. it breaks your heart to wonder these things, but you can’t help it. you are all alone. 

on days like these, you want to pretend it doesn’t hurt. you want to say that you’re fine, that you’ve never been there, so why should it affect you so deeply? it still affects you. it makes you quiver. it makes your stomach churn. it makes your eyes water with deep, irreparable sadness that only few can see. you wish that somehow, people would be as angry and hurt as you are. you wish that their apathy would slowly turn to empathy, or at least, sympathy. you wish you didn’t want to cry. you wish you could read the news without becoming numb to it all. you wish you knew how to help. you feel so alone in a world that has always had it out for you. you know that most people don’t even realize how horrible history has been to you. you struggle with whether to run and hide or go about your day. you wish you could hide. you know you can’t. you wish you could be safe. you aren’t sure what that means anymore.