to you who look at me with pity in your eyes:

i know your love for me makes you ask how i am but it does not extend beyond that.

i know you sit around lamenting my people’s condition in theory and forget

practice supercedes theory

everytime.

you’re too busy to do anything but meaningless 

gestures. you check the boxes off 

your list to alleviate the guilt. you push it from your mind 

any chance you get—-that’s another’s misery, not 

yours.

you have parties to attend, people to impress. 

perhaps you pontificate about my people’s humanity over drinks,

face shiny with alcohol-induced sweat, and a smirk

from dropping something

I’ve taught you

that your conversational opponent knew not.

perhaps you look at rallies and protests from your high-rise buildings and say “Oh I’m so glad

they’re doing that” and continue sipping your coffee.

perhaps you repost “All Eyes on Rafah” from the seat of your car as you speed away to meet

your “liberal Zionist” friends.

perhaps you send an email or two to your representatives before shoving khummus in your

mouth from the “Israeli” restaurant down the street, not thinking about the little message on their

menu that says proceeds go to fund my people’s murder.

you’ve done your duty. what more can we expect of you?

you asked how I was, you reposted that image, you sent 4 emails.

using your privilege beyond that is just…

something you’ll have to think about, you’ll have to read more about it. I can send you links but

you have a lot going on. there’s other problems in the world too. didn’t i know that?

you’ve done your duty.

i tried to answer your question of how i was,

voice shaking,

nearness to brokenness.

i tried to tell you that i wanted to let the darkness

swallow me.

you cut me off

saying: make sure to take care of yourself and practice self-care!

not realizing that for me, for us, taking care of ourselves comes by saving our people, by

repeating their names, by cooking our food, by screaming

in the streets, by seeing people around us

know and fight the evil with us

hand-in-hand.

when i told other Palestinians, before the words leapt from my mouth,

they saw the darkness

hanging off my back, they saw the tears being held by every ounce of strength

because

they are the same

and they said: what can i do for you?

they said that as their cups were also empty.

they said that as they too needed as much as whatever they could give.

but you don’t notice any of that. you just think i need a few more bubble baths.

you don’t see me, you don’t see us

Palestinians, as human, as worthy of your attention for more than a moment.

I often forget that I am the exception for you.

a reason that “oh maybe they aren’t all terrorists”

maybe THAT brown life matters.

you see me as human, not as a default but as a calculated choice.

you know me so I can’t be one of

them.

so you sent another email today and wiped the sweat from your brow.

you

did

your

duty.

you asked how i was. you reposted a photo. WHAT MORE

could I want?

I want you to fight

like it is your people eating animal feed so they won’t starve,

like it is your people praying every night that a bomb doesn’t hit their tent or their building,

like it is your people with metal rods being shoved up them,

like it is your children whose heads and bodies lay apart from one another,

like it is your people whose murder was declared moral

because they dared

to live in the place their people had

always lived.

I want you to fight like we would for

you.

see, we actually did our duty,

we fought

we screamed

we cried

we taught

we sang

we built

we dreamed

we organized

we loved

but

you’ve let us rot

and you’ve let us die instead.

so when they come for you

next,

we may not be here

not because we don’t want to be

but because there may be none of us left.