This doesn’t mean that I don’t have shit to say. This doesn’t mean that I my life holds no significance. I’m not an authority on anything but my lived experience. I can’t tell you anything. I can’t make you care about anything you don’t want to care about. I can share the things I love and the times I can’t or don’t want to forget. I can talk about whatever until whenever, but I can’t make you see my humanity if that’s not what you want to do.
I’m old, I use a wheelchair when I leave my house, I have no labour for you to exploit, and I’m fat.
I believe I have a story to tell and love to share.
I can’t tell you how it happened, but I can tell you how I remember it.
There are two scenarios I am mentally preparing for:
- No one cares and nothing happens.
- I get an inbox and social feeds full of hate from people who don’t care about anyone.
Sometimes, only the blank page in front of me will listen.