Hey all,

Here is where I will be posting submissions that are coming in related to your experiences with oppression. I am hoping to start conversations on topics related to oppression so that we may take in different viewpoints and navigate ways to change the dynamics of oppression within our system. It is important to hear voices that may not otherwise have the ability to be heard. I am accepting submissions until the week of June 7th. Feel free to email them to me: isvharaconnections@gmail.com. There is more information on what I am looking for in one of my previous posts. Otherwise, email me if you have any other questions. I would like to say that you are more than welcome to engage in these posts, but remember to be compassionate and use awareness as you do so:).

I look forward to viewing and receiving your work!

Mahalo,

Rylee

This first poem is by Greta Serpento. Here are a few sentences about her, “I am a young poet, and often get shut down because my ideas are too far out there. I'm fifteen--what do I know about the world? My ideas are thrown away, kicked under the rug, all because I wasn't born in the 1980's. Very frustrating. I saw this, and decided to give it a go.” Here is Greta’s poem:

My papa was sitting at the old table

Staring at the bills

How are we gonna afford all this?

So I ran up to my room

And drew up a graphic organizer

I put in bullet points and tips and tricks

Ways to cut out waste

And ways to make bank

I ran down the rickety stairs

With my freshly printed pages

And started my lecture

The one I had been preparing for

I was so proud

So excited

But when I started, my papa shook his head

You are fifteen

What do you know about finances?

So I told him,

We just finished interest rates in Algebra

And we’re learning about taxes in Economics

I know a thing or two

And I have some ideas--

He cut me off

You are fifteen

Your ideas are idealisms

They don’t make sense

And neither do you

He took my papers and threw them in the trash

And told me to go be a regular kid

Anger

Hatred

Darkness

Why not listen to me?

Just because my number is small

Doesn’t mean my brain is

Happens at dinner, too

I get talked over when discussing

Sports, life, politics, anything of importance

And anything of no importance

Grandpa leads the conversation

But Papa follows closely behind

My input is not appreciated

Because I am fifteen

What on Earth do I know?

It’s not like I’ve lived through four elections

One pandemic, a few years of middle school, a few of high school,

And binged old ESPN reruns to understand their conversations

I am so young

I ought to hold my tongue

I haven’t earned my right to talk

I didn’t choose my DOB

But it’s now a me-problem

I don’t matter

Because my digit is less than twenty-one

Shame, shame, shame

I would say I didn’t expect this

But that would be a lie

The world is set up

For the fall of the young innocence

It’s set up to watch the children burn

And that’s the way it’ll always be.