This free-form piece is the debut poetic work of writer and editor Sam Jones. Sam is a sophomore in the Journalism School studying reporting and strategic communication. Sam enjoys writing both satirical and creative pieces about the modern world.
It’s not my fault
That they resent the Blacks
And the Mexicans
And Muslims
And the Others
And anyone who does not fit their pre-school pamphlet, crusts cut off their PB&J, baseball at four, dance class at seven, “Why is Daddy mad at Mommy?” agenda.
It’s not my fault
That boys rape girls
And girls rape boys.
It’s not my fault
That someone’s God hates their passions
And lust
And lamentations.
I did not do this
I did not tell them to be someone else
Just like the rest of us pretend to be.
I did not ravage their identities; begging and taunting as they strip away all that they know.
I did not tell them that they will burn in Hell
To go back home
To leave us alone
Build the wall.
I did not tell them
That it’s okay to want to be gone
To be erased from this fucked-up narrative
I did not write it.
I did not do this
I did not vote for him.
Who is ‘him’?
This system is not mine.
I did not tell the women they cannot dress this way or that
To shave their long pretty legs
Or brush their long pretty hair
To peel the crust and gunk off their face and out of their eyes
The mascara bleeds with their wrists and hearts.
I did not tell them their love isn’t real.
Their struggle is fabricated, just like our Barbies and Kens and just like the endless food we stuff into our well-fed, happy faces.
So many happy faces...
I did not ask for this;
The division
The war
On trust
And intimacy
And disgust
And reverence
And goodness
And decency
And unity
And common sense.
I did not ask for this.
I did not do this
Do not blame me.