America

Even in this community aware of mental disabilities, it can be difficult for BIPOC to feel comfortable taking up space and asking for what we need.

I’d been ignorant about so many of my classmates’ experiences. Where had I been while so many other incidents of racism and classism had gone on?

“American Pie?” is my amateur attempt at asking and answering what I want to be; rather than exploring how much pie I can have, I ask how much I will eat.

I imagine our skirmishes are proof that empathy grows alongside the outbursts. We absorb each other’s feelings and project them outward again.

Both “America” and “My Rajneesh” feel very much like the culmination of Stevens’ niche artistry.

The privilege of patriotism is a luxury that Black Americans cannot afford. America prides itself on freedom, and yet treats its BIPOC as second class.

We ought to venture inside, to see what vulnerability we can discover within ourselves without the performative exhibitionism encouraged by our world.

We all change our culturally tied names to make them more palatable for the United States. A name is a beautiful thing — it should never be thrown away.

When irrational assumptions are cleared out, the family separation policy seems more like a failure of empathy and understanding.

What better way is there to kick off freshman year than jamming to a playlist as alternating feelings of terror and doe-eyed curiosity wash over you?