we rise

i. take a moment to hear me out. it is not my generation that is deplorable. everyone gives us shit, saying we're killing the industries (no, sweetheart, we just stopped trusting everything you told us, every lie you fed us), everyone says we're self-absorbed (oh sweetheart, we just learned that we don't need anyone else to worship us, we can worship ourselves) and idiotic. they say we're too sexual (sweetheart, we're just finally comfortable in our own skin), we're too unorthodox (because all the things that worked for you have only made us suffer more- so we embrace new solutions to try and salvage our lives from the ruins of your sweet, sweet wars), we're too different. we are the hated generation. mocked, made fun of, envied for our advances, despised and put down for our likes- we are hated. but amongst all that hatred? we have learned to love ourselves. we have slowly unlearned previous prejudices and pulled together- sticking with one another. we are trying to be better. 

ii. if they will not love us, we will learn to love ourselves. we are the loving generation, the generation of change. people will look back on us and say, 'it is them that changed the world.' yes, we grew up amongst the world falling apart to hatred (a battlefield of wolves in sheep's skin) and it made us closer than ever- more determined to be better, better than our predecessors were. 

iii. so watch us, baby boomers, gen x, watch us rise. watch us march in pride, watch us raise our rainbow flags- not your confederate starred ones, not your hate marked ones- our legacy is love, not hate. watch us scream and shout for our rights, watch us burn your outdated values. watch us rise above you. we are finding who we are as we hit rock bottom- trapped by student debts and a growing gap between the rich and the poor, trapped by climate change and mass extinction, we learn to grow. we will plant seeds in our daughters and sons and non-binary children too. we love you, regardless of gender, sexuality, or color. we are not our mothers, our fathers, our grandparents, our aunts or our uncles. no, we rise. 

iv. there is fire inside us too. we did not grow up in the great depression or the cold war, the "war to end all wars" or the vietnam disaster. we grew up in a post 9/11 world where airport security is the norm, "mama what do you mean we didn't used to hafta go through a metal detector?" let me tell you. our hellhounds are not the germans, not the soviets or the vietcong. our hellhounds are terrorists- are extremists, the deadly poison of supremacy that grows even in our own midst. and unlike you, our hellhounds are not so easy to kill. you cannot just point a gun at an ideology and shoot. no, you have to wipe out an entire system of belief. and unlike you, our enemies are not so clear cut. they are the elderly man across the street who smiles at you as he adjusts the confederate flag on his home, the mother who scowls when she sees two men kissing and calls them fags beneath her breath before telling you to stay far away from "their kind", the handsome young man who called you a slut for wearing a short skirt you bought at forever 21 and were psyched to wear. they are the veteran who sneers at the pride parade, the friend who tells you she worries that the african american boy is from "the ghetto," that he's got weed hidden in his backpack and evil hidden in his chest. they are the beloved teacher who calls people with mental disorders retards, and you shudder because you visit the therapist every week and swallow pills every day. they are the smiling neighbor who bakes you cookies- but you know she wouldn't if she knew that you liked boys. our enemies are our own friends because hatred has no face. hatred has no religion, no gender, no sexuality, no race, no nationality. 

v. and sometimes we wonder, what the hell are we even fighting for? this doesn't feel worth it. we're losing friends, losing family, losing jobs and opportunities. we're degraded and sometimes it feels like it will never be enough. but still we march on towards the light at the end of the tunnel. hope is a homophobic woman learning to accept her lesbian daughter. hope is a man standing beside his female co-workers as they protest for equal rights. hope is pro-choice, hope is the house across the street from the westboro baptist church (the equality house, it's called), hope is taking down confederate statues and replacing them with monuments to love. and we have hope. we can see a future free of this prejudice- we can see it. and you'd better believe we'll fight for it. 

vi. prejudices have no place in our ranks- fear and hate have no spots in our hearts. so buckle your armor and unsheathe your swords. it's not the 1900's anymore, it's a new age. 

vii. it's a whole new millennium, a whole new age. and so we rise. we were grown in shifting sand soil, so we learned to put down deep, networking roots. we change like the wind, traveling along each breeze like a cotton leaf seed. we learn from our forefathers- we are not our ancestors. our children will learn love, and they will know it unconditionally. 

viii. so we rise. yes, we rise. we are believers, dreamers, lovers, screamers. we close ranks so we can learn to love again. we have learned to wear shame like it is a second skin, and we love it. we are who we are. i dare you to try and silence us. the taste of rebellion lays heavy on our tongues, we are wolves- not in sheep's clothing as you are- but in our own beautiful fur. i dare you to try and make us die down. we will rise. 

ix. we are the generation who is finally comfortable in our own skin. comfortable in our own love. comfortable in our own faces. and we're happy like this. you cannot shame us away from our acceptance. nothing you say could ever make us go back to the dark days. no insult you say, no amount of cursing our name will make us change. if we're doomed to hell, we'll worship satan. we refuse to believe that hatred is the answer. so we take selfies, because we worship ourselves too. this body is an altar, but i am the god to whom it is dedicated, not you, so do not presume to tell me how to decorate it.