What isn’t said. What isn’t allowed. What we survive by keeping in. Weapon, shield, or surrender.
Let’s begin here:
There was a time when we looked at the blood on the ground and said, something did this. Not someone. Something. A beast. A curse. A creature that slipped through the cracks of the world and feasted on the innocent. We made up stories because the truth was too unbearable:
You were losing your faith.
Not in a dramatic, defiant way—
but slowly, question by question.
You studied harder than anyone told you to.
You read beyond the 20 safe scriptures.
And the more you read, the more questions you had.
I’ve watched every movement eat itself.
Churches. Collectives. Faculty groups. Mutual aid pods. Political orgs.
The names and slogans change. The endings don't.
They start with hunger for truth.
They end in bloodless ritual.
I wasn’t supposed to say anything.
Not out loud. Not like this.
I was taught to be polite.
To work hard.
To trust the process.
To keep my head down and hope for the best.
That if I stayed good, the system would be good to me.
That if I stayed quiet, I’d be safe.