beyond the green: collective of middlebury voices

a student-run publication that seeks to provide space for voices that are not being heard on our campus. we are grounded by politics that are radical, anti-racist, anti-sexist, anti-classist, anti-homophobic, anti-ableist, and anti-transphobic (against all forms of oppression) and that reject the structural neo-liberal paradigm that characterizes middlebury college and its official publications

Hurting (Pt. 1)

By Kizzy Joseph

Content warning: sexual assault

Sometimes I wish I had inherited my mother’s ferocity and harnessed her power to roar, to roar so loud that glass would shatter and cut him with a bloody gash so deep that he could feel how much he hurt me.

I wish I was fierce like you, mama.

Fierce like the time in elementary school when you beat up the boys who picked on your little sister. Fierce like the time you couldn’t hold it in much longer and peed on the white man’s lawn until he chased after you but couldn’t get a hold because you were so damn fast. Fierce like the time you cursed out that man who catcalled me with a sleazy smirk on his face as we were walking back from the grocery store.

I wish I was fierce like you, mama.

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I tried to give my best roar mama, I swear. I thought my thunderous roar would tremble the concrete sidewalks so violently that everyone in Atlanta would’ve thought it was Judgement Day. I thought I roared so loudly that I had defied the odds of seismometers. But instead, my roars were submerged in a sea of liquor, drowned in fear, guilt, and mind manipulation. I was told that sound travels faster in water than air, but that night I was proven wrong.

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Have you ever trusted too much?

I should’ve known when he had crossed his heart but didn’t hope to die.

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I wish I could roar like you, mama. You would’ve saved me the moment his eyes laid on me and given a roar so ferocious that every Richter scale would’ve broken and burst in flames, abruptly dissolving his skin like bubbling acid on a scorching summer’s day.

“And death and hell is cast into the lake of fire. This is the second death.” (Rev 20:14 KJV)

What a glorious day it would have been.

I wish I was fierce like you, mama.

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I confessed to daddy who hurt me and how he hurt me. He cried. It was the second time I’ve ever seen him cry (a mother lost, and now a daughter hurting) and at that very rare moment, the fearsome wall of hypermasculinity collapsed. I wish his tears cleansed and purified the earth of all its toxic masculinities for my siblings, children and generations to come.

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I wish I was fierce like you, mama.

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This entry was posted on February 14, 2017 by in Uncategorized.
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