By Saad Mughal
White, Black. Brown.
Hicks, Slaves, Terrorists.
White supremacy, All Lives Matter, Islamophobia, Black Lives Matter, No one left behind.
We the minority.
Trying to survive in this country that has lost its unity along with its dignity.
Where the rich say they got a loan of a million dollars from their daddies and say they became who they are because of themselves.
They say they struggled when in reality they struggled to just be richer.
Now we got Donald Trump tryna be the next new Hitler.
It’s not hard to be a part of the 1% and raise yourself to still be a part of that 1%.
If you ask me, it warrants no respect.
Starting out couple steps ahead.
From we the minority.
To be known for the color of our skin.
In this country that is so free of sin.
When everything that happens is because I am brown, and you are white.
Because of this distinction, we start a fight.
So let’s call roles.
I will play the terrorist, you can play my therapist.
As I obviously am the one who needs the help doctor!
Instead of beating up our wives nowadays, we just go on Facebook and block her.
You just portraying that old 1980 film you masturbate to alone in your room that you so much prefer.
Prefer more than broadcasting your hidden agenda of oppression.
All lives matter.
They do. But none of us are colorblind. Or ignorant fools that you make us all out to be.
We believe Black lives matter.
We believe Brown lives matter.
We believe Yellow lives matter.
We believe… We believe white lives matter, but all of this is to what cost.
It costs us our lives.
It costs you .0 0 0 0 0 1% of your bank account.
I see the worth of my life. So subliminally small you don’t even recognize, or conscious of my existence and my disappearance.
We the minority must follow the overlord with their clever inventions.
Can you just attach a religion in front of phobia and call it a word?
With as much power as you have I guess you can do something so absurd?
Christianity-phobia. It doesn’t have that ring to it, does it?
All lives matter right? Except muslims.
Doctor. I’m gonna come out.
No no, I am not a gay.
I am a terrorist.
Strike me dead now, and don’t broadcast the news on the television.
We wouldn’t want that.
My life is worth .0 0 0 0 0 1% of your bank account after all.
Now my brother slaves.
Work for my white colleagues until you end up in the grave.
Slave away with your blood sweat and tears.
Picking cotton for the clothes on their backs,
Whipped again and again until the blood starts a stream of its own.
Mother Nature starts to cry by showering the earth,
Washing away the blood that has watered the very cotton that the slaves picked with their bare hands.
Now slaves are just running.
Running right beside us terrorists.
Running away from all the therapists in this world that say we are all equal in every which way.
We know there is no equality when we are to start in a race 10 feet behind the start line and have to end 10 feet after the finish.
This country is broken.
Shattered to pieces that can’t be rejoined, as if it were whole, it would still not be perfect.
Not as long as the past is the past and the present is me being a terrorist, my black friend being a slave, and my white friend being a hick.
Not any longer can I continue being the one to blow up the world, when you are the one putting the bomb in the ground and the trigger into my hand, and slamming it down for me to take the fall!
Not any longer can any of us stand by each other without causing some sort of destruction.
It is not our fault that we were given a piece of paper that had a full set of pre-prepared, prewritten, gun to our heads, hand waiting to pull the trigger if we did not fulfill,… instructions.
Is it really our fault I ask?
I have several friends who have changed their names, and put on a mask.
To cover the color of their skins, the features of their face, the sound of their voice, the soul that is their body.
We stop being ourselves.
We start being someone who has no identity.
My friends say, I am American.