Don’t Tell Me You’re Not One of Them. Show Me.

They got so much things to say right now.
About what I should’ve done.
Where I should’ve been.
How I should’ve healed.
How loud.
How soft.
How fast.
How long.

But don’t tell me you’re not one of them.
Show me.

Show me in the way you speak about people like me
when I’m not in the room.
Show me by the questions you ask when someone says
“I was harmed.”
Show me you don’t need proof dripping from wounds
before you believe pain.

Don’t dress your judgment in concern.
Don’t serve your disrespect with sugar.
If you don’t see me as worthy of peace, of safety,
of rising again after the fire—
Then say that.

But if you do
If you truly mean to be a safe one,
a solid one,
a truth-teller in a world that rewards lies—
Then let it begin with respect.

Respect for my voice.
Respect for my story.
Respect for the fact that I survived
a storm you can’t even imagine.

That respect?
It’s not owed to me because I’m perfect.
It’s owed because I’m still here.

So don’t tell me you’re not my enemy.
Don’t hand me declarations and think that makes you different.
Show me.
In how you walk.
In how you speak.
In who you choose to protect
when it’s not easy,
when it’s not trending,
when it costs something.

Because they got so much things to say right now.
And I got so much truth to live right now.

We can all grow into better ways to respond to pain and suffering-especially when it comes to women and children.