He can cut the words out of a painting, puncturing the material beyond return
He can scream the words louder than I ever could, because his heritage is not a concern
You say it’s all about the context…
You repeat that word as if I don’t understand the weight it holds
But I understand it more than you ever will.
It’s the fabric I lay over my head
It’s my heritage
It’s my colour
I am the context
You disagree?
But why does it feel like it’s about who’s holding the paintbrush?
For him, an easel stands ready,
his voice isn’t taken, its given.
But I was not granted the same permission.
I’m confused…
You see, we wrote the same phrase
13 letters, 2 words, 1 space.
In his work the phrase is permanent, it’s powerful, it’s political (the good kind)
In my work the words make you feel uneasy, it’s wrong, it’s harmful, it’s extreme
The worst part is, no one knows,
I see your performativity.
You hide behind Instagram posts on ‘diversity’
I wish they knew what you took from me,
that you asked me to undermine my integrity.
I’m getting angry now.
We wrote the same phrase
13 letters, 2 words, 1 space
I am realising now that it’s systemic…
They can, but they can’t
You applaud him, but investigate me
You allow him, but censor me
He can, but I can’t.
Now it’s two years too late, but I’m still on the front line defending my freedom…and their freedom
It’s the same forgotten story,
when brown bodies are involved, you turn away and force out a…sorry?
Knowledge is power
Words hold power
13 letters, 2 words, 1 space
I’ve researched, I’ve read books and essays.
I’ve listened to stories.
But it’s too late.
You’ve absorbed the media, soaking in the words they use.
And over time,
those words have poisoned your mind,
And you’ve picked a side.
You see me, and you wring out every preconceived idea,
I’m drowning in your words now, and I’ve forgotten how to swim
I’ve been careful
I’ve bit my tongue till it’s bled, I’ve counted to ten
It doesn’t matter how hard you fight, how loud you scream.
They can’t hear you.
They won’t hear you.
But I am my Mother’s daughter
They will be forced to hear me.
I will remind them every time.
They will remember my face
and how I said 13 letters, 2 words, 1 space.
Amina Pagliari 