I am no longer your atlas, holding up your privileged world.
My arms are tired and weary, I can no longer hold it.
My feet have fused with the ground, having been in perpetual motion.
I don't have the energy or desire to hold it up and
I am tired of you always benefiting from it.
It is hard to be polite anymore about this.
When you see me, you never see the real me.
I am invisible in your world.
Tears, pain and oppression, and suffering are a constant in mine.
I wash my hands of your blind eyes and lack of self-care.
I am not the reflection in your eyes or in the puddle on the ground.
Anytime I was hobbled down on my knees, you humbled me less than you.
But I carried your weight and your false ego, for far too long.
I worked myself to the bone.
You took advantage of my hard work, telling yourself it was all you.
I worked and labored for free, for over two decades.
Sick, hurt, disabled, in pain, my condition never mattered to you as long as I did it.
Guilt, I know you don't feel it.
Me, you never saw me, only what you'd steal from me.
Shame, not in your lexicon.
Freedom, a new word for me.
No more Atlas, no more free rides, this minority woman is putting her weary foot down.