I need to tell you something.
It will shock you, but maybe you already have known.
I told a secretary I was stressed once.
She told me, “we all get stress, but it doesn’t mean that we can use it as excuse.”
I am 14 years old.
This stress is a snake wrapped around my heart.
It coils and chills the true spirit that lies within.
“Lie to them I said! Are you stupid, what are you doing, put that down?”
My sash of badges hold claim of the audiences’ shouts of disapproval.
The snake has a friend and it is a boulder, that weighs me down each day I wake.
Sometimes I cry myself to sleep wishing that the boulder will fall off my shoulder and crush the snake.
My reality of stones and venom are just an imagery of the actuality of the spit of spite that I dodge daily.
I tried telling my friends, to maybe relinquish my own process.
But praise and acceptance were only found on the welcome mat that my feet had passed a moment ago.
“He doesn’t need to be that way?”
“If we ignore it, then maybe he’ll change”
“It isn’t right”
The venomous reptile that was once wrapped around my heart, had morphed into replicas of my companions, and now stood in their places.
My freedom could not exist if it meant making others reflect upon their own beliefs.
There were others that attended this learning institution of emotional and sometimes physical torture.
Their boulders upon their backs are just as big as mine.
With their snakesarmed with hisses, that seemed louder than my own.
Shameful voices ring through their head.
Telling them to keep their spirits within the shadow.
This is the result of the serpent’s toxin.
For there is a blindness to the light, with every bite of its social poison.
Overtime this substance can result in injury and/or death.
Removing myself from any reptilian environments, I sought out sources of refuge.
Advocates, alchemists, and failed knock offs of Marilyn Monroes and James Deans were now my brethren.
They were now the people who would accept me and uncoil me of a young man’s tribulations.
Instead of seeking the scriptures of men already written and produced, I decide to pen my own.
The trials increased, as discovery was made of different choices and other endeavors that were presented to me to embark upon.
The poisoned subsided, as the boulder created itself into dust as I laughed, loved and lived.
My badges of shame now hold claim to bravery, strength and survival.
I have found my voice and my spirit thrives.
While sometimes dancing in heeled footwear.
Words of empowerment are now changing the paradigms.
Youth are realizing that freedom is more important than cultural restrictions.
An Odawa elder once told me that the colour purple means patience.
Purple is my favourite colour.
And it’s the hue I use to brush upon fresh canvasses.
That will someday create brighter communities.
I need to tell you something
I am Purple
Live Long and Artivist