Young Writers Society

I had a dream, more of an ideal, really.

I was told that my own self would be judged by my own merits and little else.

I can not describe my own betrayal, when I found out the truth,

I can not explain the horror that opened up to me as I slowly learned how the world truly works.

To find that I would not be equal, I would not be treated the same.

Find that my own actions would not be judged the same as the boy next to me.

Always expected to be different, to be better, but never told why, never told how,

How, how, how could the world be this way?

Every truth I thought I knew, is every truth some prettily disguised lie?

Are my thoughts even my own? What are we, if not a result of our circumstances?

My bias, my preferences, are they even mine? Or are they just another thing expected of me? Should I fight back? I do not know, and it kills me. I do not know what I should be, what mask I should wear to survive.

I must always second-guess my own thoughts, my own actions, my own words. The masks I wore for protection are becoming real, fighting me for my own mind.

How much of it is me?

I don’t want to be a monster, I don’t want to suffer, I don’t want to hurt others,

But I am left with no choice.

You built this abomination. You lied to me and filled my own mind with lies. You created this monster, and you are still not satisfied.

How many more must suffer before you realize how much you hurt us? How many more will parish before you look at them like people instead of lesser?

It took me years to even notice something was wrong. That something wasn’t right with my own self.

Can you imagine, can you imagine the horror? The horror of finding you aren’t who you thought you were.

The horror of finding you’re not even real, you’re not even a person.

Always second, always lesser, always different and punished because of it.

The betrayal when you see through the pretty painted falsities you were raised to praise.

So yes I had a dream.

A dream that’s been crushed by this life, this life my own self is made to live

This life my own self was shaped to have. Shaped like pottery, not a human, not an equal. Not anyone who can fight back.

So yes I had a dream.

A dream that I would be equal.

A thought, an idea, a passion, that maybe, maybe, maybe, I could be seen as someone.

I never wanted this.

I never asked for this.

But you made me, you built me and destroyed me, reshaping every aspect, trying to make me fit your mold, to be subservient and docile, to obey and do as I’m told.

So yes I had a dream.

A child’s dream, a thought I might be equal.

That I would be judged by my actions and my actions alone,

But that was just a dream

That is not how this world works.

I am judged by people who don’t know me, for things I cannot control.

Always an outsider, always different, always always always always something wrong.

Always me.

Always my own self.

I am attacked but no blame falls on the attackers.

I ask, I plead, I beg for help, someone, anyone, please!

No help is given, not even a second thought.

It is always my own fault.

Do not resist, do not argue, do not defend yourself, you’ll only make it worse.

So yes, I had an ideal, that the people of this world were treated as equals, only judged for their actions, only for what they could control. Evil was for fairy tales, unjust laws and systems were brought down centuries ago, none still existed today.

It took me years to realize that is a lie.

Years more to realized that I could, that I should fight,

Still more until I finally finished my own plan of attack.

So here I stand, my own self. Screaming to the sky.

“I am free! I am my own self! I will make my dreams into reality! None of you can stop me!”

Because I was raised to be kind, I was raised to believe that there was good in the world, in humanity. I was raised with the image of a perfect world in my mind, one where all are equals.

I will make that image a reality, no matter what it takes. I will fight to the end of hope itself.

Or I will die trying.