Strawberry Lens

I didn’t know I was being taught how to see

Until I stopped looking.

In the way glasses are meant to correct our vision,

These lenses manipulate.

Lenses the color of strawberries,

Forcefully placed over our eyes

The moment we take our first breath.

What has the lens made me believe?

What does it deem normal?

There’s many.

So listen up.

It taught me men are born to lead,

And women are born to bleed—

That power wears a suit,

And silence wears lipstick.

It taught me race is a separation,

That separation isn’t created—it’s instinctual.

That my white skin

Matters more

Than their colored.

It taught me money is wealth,

And wealth belongs to the suits,

While the rest suffer

Wallowing in their consequences.

It taught me full-time work is noble,

That we’re “growing together,”

Because we all want the best experience.

(Lie.)

It taught me, as a woman, I must conceive.

That I am not whole,

Not a real woman,

If I don’t reproduce.

It taught me to always look my best—

To be skinny, to show skin,

To follow trends.

I just wanted to be loved.

It taught me shame.

To monitor my actions,

To stay “safe,”

So I don’t suffer

For my “silly” mistakes.

It taught me men have more say

Over my body

Than me.

But then I blinked—

And the lens cracked.

It peeled back the pink gloss,

Revealing bruises beneath.

Rot disguised as roses.

Chains made of ribbons.

Lies stitched in silk.

What should we be questioning?

What did I question?

Everything.

When did I start noticing the cracks

Carved in the design?

I saw it—

Rules for women, not for men.

The shame placed

On bodies over size zero.

The lingering separation

Between the colored and the white.

The walk of shame

Just to buy protection.

How women suffer

While men flourish.

I saw it

In textbooks,

Church pews,

Boardrooms,

Bathrooms—

In the way “no” was never enough,

And “yes” was never ours.

I saw it—

That “rich” never meant wealth.

Wealth is shallow.

Rich is a construct.

I realized

I never grew up poor.

I had a home,

Water,

Love,

School.

We didn’t need money

To be wealthy.

Just love.

You wanna keep feeding the darkness?

Buy the Gucci belt.

Buy the mansion.

But don’t buy me.

You’re selling your humanity

Just to be seen.

I grieve the years I mistook silence for strength—

Years my voice,

My thoughts,

Fell unheard.

The years I believed

I deserved pain.

And still—

This strawberry-filtered glass

Taints the way I love my reflection.

Gives the scale a voice.

Society drew us as fools.

Placed lenses on our eyes

The instant we breathed.

But I ain’t no fool.

And neither are you.

As glamorous as they seem—

If you look close enough:

They are cracked.

Corrupt.

Evil.

Never again will I wear

Those strawberry-tinted lenses.

I hate them.

And you should too.