Of lesser value.

What if I'm next? What if I know someone who is?

Staring in the mirror, assessing my value.

A woman.

A black woman.

A queer woman.

Another step, step, and step. Down, down, and down.


It's not enough to be light-skinned, or thought of as pretty. Educated, or eloquent. This week reminded me I'm still less. My body is seen as less. My life is seen as less. My value is seen as less.

Now I've hit a breaking point.

Encouraged since childhood not to seek it from outside of myself- be my own champion, my own advocate. My first love, and cheering section.

This is the first time in my life I can't hear it. The inner voice telling me it'll be alright. I've been down before, but this is different.

Will it ever matter how hard I work, or how much I dream? Will it ever matter how hard I fight, or how loudly I scream?

Will anyone know if something happens to me? My life isn't really mine. The reminders lined up like headstones.

What if I'm next? What if I know someone who is?