But where is the outrage? 

I am nauseated. Aching. Cringing and cramping from my guts to my scalp. 

What does love have to do with it? Respect me, feed me, accept me. You do not have to love me: this does not determine my right. I have a right to move about the world unfettered — just as much right as you. You will not succeed in cornering me, quartering me. You cannot detain me or push me within boundary lines of your own creation. The world is not yours. 

But where is the outrage?

My heart is breaking, broken. Shattered. 

I sip a latte with you. We sit in the winter sunshine and tell jokes. I want to cry. I crawl into bed with you, where we are warm and quiet. I want to cry. Drunkenly, I eat a green, cheesy dip with you. We are messy, loose and free in our motions. I want to cry. I come into work, and you bring in a crockpot of hearty soup to share. We sit around the table smiling over our bowls. I want to cry. 

Community, kinship, friendship, support. I have all of this, yet I feel broken and defeated. Imagine if I were alone. What would I feel then? I rise up with my pain on my shoulders. This is how you fight. The unbroken ones do not fight for the things. The things are unseen to them. 


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