I feel unseen perspiration dot my brow and mine’s significance. I feel unheard. I feel my body quiver in fear as I walk down the street, wondering who the next bully I confront will be. I feel the I feel the bile rise in my stomach turned somersault.

So then, justice. I feel like a second-class citizen, like an immigrant cordoned off in third-class steerage side, out of sight, out of mind. My head feels like a hornet’s nest full of migraines, as if, instead of the monthly reprieve, they come like a mudslide, not quite smothering the power. I feel less than useless. I feel unworthy. I feel like I’m not good enough for the rich and the fab and the holy toy influencers who influence societies.

I feel like my words have no meaning. I feel like my life has no purpose.

My bones ache with the coldness and unjustness of it all.