They do not know you. They do not know the story. They cannot begin to understand… But they know the label. And to that label, they cling with white knuckles.
They saw the photo. They read the name. And long before the truth could draw breath, the laughter began. The applause broke out. The celebration took root.
Because you are an activist? Because you found your voice? Because you dared to fight? To them, that makes you worthy. Worthy of vanishing. Worthy of the grave.
It is a terrifying thought— That the act of thinking for oneself has become a sin. That being wide awake feels like a noose around the throat.
They erased the person you were and replaced you with the name of an "Enemy." And once you are the enemy... Judgment comes easy. Insults come easy. It is easy to turn into stone.
But... but... but... The line being drawn today is shifting. It crawls closer. It drifts away.
I want to add more. I want to reach the end. But I am so, so tired.
