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No Longer Your Atlas

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Author's Notes

"Please and thanks."

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.

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