When God Wears the Wrong Face

What an inconvenience it’s become to walk this earth in differently colored skin.

The absence of melanin, once mythologized as the standard of purity, is nothing more than a genetic mutation, a lack of nutrient-rich pigment, essential and ancient.

I’m haunted by a nostalgia for a time when acceptance was sacred. But here’s the twist: that time never existed. It was a lie from a realm long decayed, a memory stitched from longing. And now, here we are, left to navigate a world of uneducated miscreants, unable to grasp the truths of their own biology.

They worship a god fashioned in their own image, blind to the fact that the image itself is false. Crafted not for faith, but for comfort. For justification. For the deep, unspoken craving for what they fear, what they repress, the beautiful, unyielding opposite.

Oh, what an inconvenience. What a comedy of errors. To balance on this tightrope, strung between inherited madness and manufactured insecurity. A spectacle birthed by those who know less and shout more…desperate to drape their nonsense in the robes of truth.

For those who listen between the lines.
Elaine Degro

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I am sitting quietly, grieving in silence. My hands rest neatly in my lap. My new bangs hide my swollen eyelids. My fingers — raw from being picked at — tell on me. I look out the window, tempted to publicly shame you. But I don’t. I won’t. So I

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Grieving in Silence

Look for the Moms

Softness

Gypsy