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You are who you fuck,
Or so I have been mistold.
It’s privilege that creates these words.
One in four don’t have a choice.

For years, I took part like a fucking tool
Because the only empowerment I felt was social ridicule.
Man or woman, it didn’t matter;
I found pride in my teenage banter.

It wasn’t ’til I fell for a girl
Who had been robbed of what she struggled to secure.
I realized my place wasn’t to blame or question,
But to ask if reality was lathered with consensus.

I am sorry we never stopped to talk.
In two years I realized you had changed.
At first I thought you were shy,
But failed to see that a part of you had died.

I remember the box you wanted to keep
Knowing justice was five feet between you and me.
I asked, “Why you want these memories?”
And you kept staring, conflicted with grief.
Justice would never bring back what was taken
Because justice is controlled by an oppressor-
Who could in the morning slap around his woman
and in the afternoon sign away the rights to her womb.

A friend is what you needed not a man

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