Today, my brain is a weepy, muddled mess of what could be and what isn’t. Feelings that betray my better instincts. A frustratingly opaque world of thoughts I can’t pinpoint.
I write sentences and erase them, one character at a time, with loud key strokes.
Delete. Delete. Delete.
Why am I afraid? Maybe I’m not. My fear is not the fear of those with less privilege than me.
I will be ok.
Of course I will – I am white. Yes, I’m female, but I believe both genders suffer in a world that says, “Men: be this way. Women: be that way” and then punishes those who say, “No.”
If I’m not afraid, what am I?