And In This World, I Wish Not To Be Queen

And in this world, I would wish not to be Queen

We put tyrants on thrones and call them Gods. We put saints in cells and call them traitors. And humans are like wolves. Willing to fight to be the best, turning on brother and sister. We rank ourselves into a society and sneer at the ones who can't do any better. We dress ourselves in clothes everyday that could pass as a persons wedding clothes. We cry when we lose our phones, forgetting the starving children. While we live like royalty, homes are getting bombed. And yet, all I can do is stare.

I stare at a mural near my home, I can see it if I sit in the chair by my living room window. It shows people of every gender and race and age joining and being kind to one another. And I think, why isn't the world like this? Because we allow the honest, the brave, and kind to slip through our fingers and die. While we murder and whine, a man loses his wife. And a wife loses her child. And a child loses their parents. And parents lose families. And it's a never ending cycle of hate, and loss, and torture.

And then people say, "You share no blood, you are not family." I have two families. The one I was born into and the one I choose. My best friend Sara. She is not the girl who shares a mother with me, no. But we share something better. The ability to talk to watch other with just a wiggle of an eyebrow, a look directed in the others direction. And the ability to laugh at anything and everything.

People stereotype everyone they see and know. You're Irish? You're a drunk! Your Muslim? Terrorist! You're Italian? Pasta loving mafia boss! You're American? You must be dumb and fat. You're Jamaican? You must smoke weed. And my personal favorite, you're Romanian? You must be a gypsy thief!

And because of this and more people kill themselves or harm themselves. Because they can't take it anymore, they need a way out.

Once upon a time, a little girl had a brother. This brother was kind, and intelligent, and funny, and everything everyone else wasn't. And he realized a deep and dark truth about himself.
He. Was. Gay.
The first thing he did was panic, and cry. Then he came to terms with it. He didn't tell anyone. Why would he? But he met another man, and they began to date. And the brother came out. To everyone but his father. One day he was spending time with his boyfriend. And his dad found them. Yelled until the brother was a sobbing mess on the floor. The little girl watched from a round the corner as her father kicked her brother in the stomach.

"Stop!" She cried. Her brother's tears were a small knife cutting her and all she wanted was out. She always wondered if that's how he felt when he killed himself the next day.

If you ever decide to go to Pittsburgh, you will see people everywhere. People are very kind, and French fries are everywhere. But it is not Pittsburgh I wish to speak about, but rather a suburb called Upper St. Clair. It's a gorgeous little town with perfect children. Now, one time I was at a party with a friend who's little sister goes to the high school. Yes, it was a high school party. And I see a girl getting bullied. I'm going to intervene when I see a boy come around and shove the boys away from the girl. The girl was somewhat tall, with lovely brown eyes. I'd seen her laughing with her friends only minutes before. And here she was almost in tears. Because these boys began to bully her on her religion. The girl was Muslim. That much was evident by her, may I say gorgeous, headscarf. And this boy, a football player, intervened and helped this girl. And I was astonished. The boy was very, very tall with blondish hair and a perfect nose. He was good at football, I'd seen him play at games when I went with my roommates. And it was wonderful to see these people, no matter how much younger then me, help each other.

Now I'd like to get into detail about the football player. He was popular, had a pretty girl around his arm, and after the football game had been talking to his friends like any other football player. But I think the moment I knew he was really a kind person, was when I saw him and his little sister. He was harmfully teasing her about her love for pocky. They looked nothing alike, he was again blonde and pale, but she was dark. Dark eyes, dark hair, tan skin, she was tall and she was loud. Very loud. And I say loud fondly. I assume one was adopted or they were step siblings but what I thought was great was how they treated each other like brother and sister. He was laughing with her about pocky, but I'm certain if anyone else made fun of his sister he'd turn them into a pulp.

Now off of the topic of bullying. The whole point of this was for people to think. Go out and help people. Donate what you can, go to soup shelters, become friends with a person who had none. Teach people. Help someone laugh. Even just pick up someone's pencil if they drop it. The kindest thing could make a world of difference. You could be the balance between someone's bad day and good day. Laugh in the face of someone trying to drag you down. Let it be known who you are, don't let someone else dictate you or your life. Be the kindest you can be. Even though I may sound like a pacifist, a preacher, or a person trying to be a martyr. I am merely a young woman sick of turning on the television and seeing horrid, wretched things. Attacks in Paris and Brussels. Children being forced to fight. Young people being shot for their beliefs. These young people, maybe one could have cured cancer. The other may have had a family waiting for them. A spouse, a child, a mother and a father.

All and all the only thing I want you to keep in mind when you stop reading this is one thing:

Think.