“We all wanted that high school sweetheart We wanted to be young and white in the fifties with meatloafs and sock hops and lawns so perfect they looked like Clark Gable was kissing them We wanted to be thirteen and alive and meet a girl that was thirteen and alive and walk with her past the grandstands to sit and hold hands with to sit and kiss with to sit and sit with like it was something that you’d have missed but that never was We once wanted to be poor but not too poor connecting this country like Kerouac and thumbs pulling small town waitresses in the back seats and trailer park homes where the two of you would find passion expanding between the locking of your bones until morning would come to find you out on the road with your pockets empty except for your hands but your hands they’d be overflowing with your soul but that’s not what happened We once went to bed like between the bed sheets were the valley where dinosaurs still breathed and how we would capture these triceratops and brontosauruses but even he was opened up with the smoke that rose out of the homes and the corners that we once climbed through, with the streets and the footballs which we once threw, the school desks upon which we once drew, the windows that sat open through we once flew, before the outside world of parking spaces and dead friends came flooding on in and we forgot what we wanted and we became what we become: waitresses and bartenders, city employees and temp positions, we are junkies and one kiss poems and we cry the stars as we write our scars onto dumpsters and electric boxes because the only thing that we can hear is our hearts and the only ones listening are the streets to the blood that breathes through the letters we leave and we dream that we try to rise ourselves up out of these burning buildings but instead get buried somewhere beneath because I know my life is like some high school kid’s notebook that kid that shuffles back and forth between school and home stacking the letters and the pictures too close for anyone outside of his own imagination to read because it’s through the ink that his heart beats that his heart breathes And we all just wanted to just wanted to write these notes: check if you like me check if you don’t check if you’ll date me check if you won’t because we all wanted the love songs to be true and did love dinosaurs once and we wanted the stars to hold our hands to lick the teeth to fuck us but they end up fucking us So let your smile twist like my heart dancing precariously on the edge of my finger tips staining them as that same high school kid licking his thoughts using his sharpie tip writing: I WAS HERE I was here motherfucker and ain’t none of y’all can write that in the spot that I just wrote it in I am here motherfucker and we all here motherfucker and we all motherfuckers motherfucker because every breath I give brings me a second closer to the day that my mother may die and every breath I take takes me a second further from the moment she caught my father’s eye because every word I carry is another stone to put into place in the foundation that I’m building to erase the days and help erase something I never saw: what all of us wanted and what none of us got what we all had and have and what we all forgot that we all wanted to be something that we all became something and it might not be the shit what we once thought it’d be when we were kids but something is still something and like some cats say something’s better then nothing feet are smarter than an engine and dreams are stronger than thighs and questions are the only answers we need to have to know that we’re still as alive as the time when I held the mind of a child asking why is 2 + 3 always equal to 5? Where do people go when they die? What made the beauty of the moon? And the beauty of the sea? Did that beauty make you did that beauty make me? Will it make me something? Will I be something Am I something? And the answer comes: I already am I always was and I still have time to be.”
— Anis Mojgani, “Here Am I”
There is no such thing as reverse racism or reverse sexism.
It is impossible to oppress white people on grounds of their race or cis men on grounds of their gender because racism and sexism are forms of oppression and forms of oppression are systematic and institutionalized and manifest themselves in all aspects of society.
Yes, it is possible to discriminate or present favoritism in isolated incidents against cis men or a white person but these small injustices offer no mass negative effects on an entire demographic and often times these isolated discriminations are in response to oppression by white people or cis men.
To say that “all white people are bad” is very different from saying “all Latino people are bad” because that generalization about Latino people is part of what contributes to racially driven hate crimes, discrimination in the work place which manifests itself in lower pay and less chance for promotion, and disproportionately higher incarceration rates. All that saying “all white people are bad” does is create hurt feelings among those who do not understand the system of oppression and does not affect white people’s advantage over PoC in all walks of life at all.