When the boy on my

cruise from New Orleans

asked, Where are your horns?

I was completely floored.

Where are my horns, I thought,

clasping my hand over

the Star of David necklace

around my neck.

I went back to my room,

made a cup of tea, and

said goodnight to Grandma.

Gute Nacht, my grandmother

said to me, before tucking

me into bed.

Grandma, I said, has anyone

ever asked you if you had horns?

Oh yes, said Grandma,

back in Austria anyone wearing

a star was called a beast. But you

know what?

I looked cautiously

at my grandma

and raised my eyebrows.

The ones with the thickest horns

are the ones that are most

likely to survive.

I glanced up at my

grandmother,

a 92-year old Holocaust

survivor, and suddenly my

eyes became heavy

and closed.

That night I dreamt about

winning. About standing on

a first place podium

holding a golden trophy,

with passion in my eyes.

So a few people know this and a few people don't but I think it's wrong. A few Prosers that know about it have already contacted Prose and yeah, I get that it's the holidays and all but I think this needs to be taken care of as quickly as possible.

Here's the deal. There's a user named Unique who entered into the Challenge of the Month for December. Perfectly fine. But she went and created over 90+ side accounts to go and like and repost her post. It has over 400 views at this point.

Problem Number One: You're only allowed to have one account on Prose. Yeah, sure, a few of us have another account that we like to use when we want to write just to write and now for people to see. It's a personal account that is normally on private. But over 90 is a bit exessive.

Problem Number Two: She/He/It/They deleted any comment that wasn't in favor of the post. I had to recomment twice and then block the user so they couldn't delete it. A fellow Prose reached out and asked what her explanation for all the side accounts was and they responded saying they were people they had invited to Prose. Cool, awesome, we love new people but over 90+ people? There's no way that all of those are you 'friends.' I'll give you like five or eight.

Problem Number Three: This is probably the biggest one. Imagine being a new user on Prose and stumbling upon this post and seeing that Unique is too a new user but has so many views and likes and reposts and you work has like five at most. I know how this is! When I first started, I was excited because ten or so people had liked my post and then I saw veterans on here who had made a bit of a following as they had been on there for so long and they had tons more likes, reposts, and views then I did. But you know what? They took me under their wings and helped me and would even tag other people to come and read my posts. I grew and since I've been on here, I've been trying to help those that are new to Prose. But just imagine! for a split second the discouragement they would feel.

Problem Number Four: Prose is being slow. Now, I mentioned earlier that yeah, it's the holidays and all but it's a matter of time before Unique starts screwing with the other challenges. Luckily, you don't win the challenge of the month because of likes and reposts or they would have blown us all out of the water with their fake system. I messaged Prose several days ago and have heard nothing about it. Yet Unique is still getting away with it.

I just hope that something can be done about this and quickly.

My Nation is in a big turmoil.

What once democracy stood for us is no more;

Secularism has lost its values

and well who knows we will be cut off from the whole world soon.

They attacked off limit, injured so many and few have been laid on their death beds.

We were beaten, detained and painted with blood sheds.

Listen to our call, we have been calling for so long!

The leaders of my Nation have turned against us,

They are trying their best to eradicate each one of us.

This is our country too and we will fight till our last breath.

#Raisevoiceagainstinjustice

It was a January day, in which a 14 year-old boy was shot dead in the head after insulting the president.

His family is still awaiting any information about where they dumped his corpse.

It was a February day, in which a group of students rallied behind one another and watched as a man poured gasoline on his body and set himself on fire, because he no longer could pay for his children's tuition, knowing that the public system is broken.

His countrymen are still awaiting an education system that won't lead to them burning themselves alive for the sake of their children's future.

It was a March day, in which two religious clerics tried to break each other's bones using not words, but sticks and stones.

Their trusting followers are still awaiting a time when they could look past faith and live together in harmony.

It was an April day, in which a young woman sat chained on a seat and cried out in pain as the electric shockwaves blazed through her body, torturing her every cell. Meanwhile her captures laughed monstrously at the scene.

Her college application still awaits her signature.

It was a May day, in which a group of little boys were dragged out of their homes after witnessing their parents getting killed, only to meet the same fate as their loved ones. Just because some feared they might grow up and demand revenge for the murder of their family.

The survivors that ran are still awaiting justice.

It was June day, in which a 27 year-old garbage man collapsed and took his last breathe on one of the streets he used to clean. "I was a global economic major." He told a teenager that always shared his candy with the worker.

The younger generation is still awaiting actual job opportunities.

It was a July day, in which a little girl was suppose to be celebrating her birthday. Instead, she made her meal out of boiled water and tree leaves and tried her hardest to digest the so-called food.

The region is still awaiting anything that could stop them from starving.

It was an August day, in which a family of unrelated lost ones made their way across the border in order to survive.

The people are still awaiting permission to enter.

It was a September day, in which the president came out with a new speech that was met with ridicule from one special man that was taken by the men dressed in military uniforms.

His dead corpse is still awaiting the throat they slit.

It was an October day, in which 5 teenage girls were found dead in a dumpster.

Their bodies are still awaiting the multiple organs stolen from them.

It was a November day, in which the sun no longer shone and coldness approached the doorsteps. And the refugee camps were filled to the brim with people shivering to death.

The camps are still awaiting the warmth.

It was a December night, in which 7 boys were arrested for spray painting a graffiti against their president and his government.

The 7 boys were never seen again.

My brother said he would return home one day and I'm still waiting.

We're still waiting.

But I don't believe they care?

So, why do they still underestimate people that have nothing to lose?

I am at the heart of a raging debate.

Is the death penalty humane?

What crimes should warrant capital punishment?

Me, my opinion is lost.

Blown to the wind.

But here's what I think

About "justice:"

Rape is worthy of the death penalty.

It is an unforgivable crime.

I'd rather be murdered than raped.

And that's just the truth.

But then there comes a complexity

About how capital punishment favors the rich and white.

I say the death penalty is great,

But the racism and sexism and judgement

Needs to change

Before I can feel safe

In my skin.

Because no one cares about innocence

Anymore.

No one cares what you didn't do.

They care about

y o u r s k i n

y o u r c l o t h e s

y o u r s e x u a l i t y

y o u r p a s t

y o u r f i n a n c i a l s t a n d i n g

They don't care

About innocence.

They care

About penance.

Penance for someone else's deeds.

How to get away with murder:

Be white, be rich, be charismatic,

and the law can't touch you.

You've bought a restraining order on justice.

So here we are.

Stuck chasing after the wrong person

because the right white man

Couldn't possibly

Be evil....

No one cares

About Innocence.

It's about twelve o'clock at night, on a saturday. I think it's christmas time.

I've just finished working a twelve hour shift, and I'm on my way home.

It's Dublin city centre, and I've managed to cram myself on the last tram of the evening.

The trams are about six carts long, bustling with drunkards singing and melodically chattering amongst themselves. There are a few people in the same shoes as me; finishing up a busy work day. I have my headphones on, and I'm trying not to pay anyone any attention.

From the corner of my eye, I spot a fist being lifted high into the air and swinging into a young boys face. I say young boy, he's probably about my age at the time, twenty years old or so. The fist belongs to an older man, I want to say fifty plus, but it's hard to tell with people when they're drunk. He looks like he drinks alot. He has an angry weathered face, and a plump red nose, beer belly to match.

I'm not sure of what started this fight, but the boy dosn't seem interested.

I take my headphones off, to try and gage the situation. The older man is yelling, bitter, slurred words.

It's starting to cause quite a comotion amongst the other passengers.

The boy isn't retaliating, instead he's just taking every blow that the man delivers, trying to cover his face, cowering further back into a sea of people.

It's getting out of hand, I start to feel incredibly uncomfortable.

Whatever has happened, nobody deserves to be treated like this.

I start to make my way through the crowd.

It's a laborious task, as everybody is leaning in, trying to get a gawk.

Phones are out. People are filming what's going on, as opposed to trying to quell the situation. This makes me so angry!

A poor boy is getting pummelled, by a much older and angrier man, and they're filming it to get likes or views, or whatever it is they think they're going to recieve from it.

My heart is in my chest as I clamber down the trams, getting closer to the scene.

I'm in complete disbelief that nobody else wants to help.

I'm a twenty something year old girl, there are many people bigger and bolder looking than me, but I am the one who steps in.

I elbow someone out of the way, I'm filled with rage and animosity.

I grab the man from behind, and yank his coat with as much force as I can stomach.

"WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING!?" I yell at him, and the other passengers.

He takes a swing, and tries to push me. I raise my fist, and slosh him one right in his face, and with two hands, push him with full-force into the chest.

I step in front of the boy, as the man is thrown back into other passengers.

I tell him if he takes even one more step closer to me or the boy I will really hurt him this time.

He pauses, weighing up his options. He slurrs some obsenities at me, but dosn't take another step.

I start yelling at people. I am at my wits end, my brim over-flowing with andrenalin.

"WHY ARE YOU ALL STANDING THERE, EH? FILMING A MAN PUNCHING THE LIGHTS OUT OF A HELPLESS BOY, EH?! DO YOU KNOW HOW OLD I AM?! NO!? WELL I'M TWENTY-FUCKING-ONE!

THIS. IS. NOT. RIGHT!

YOU SHOULD ALL BE ASHAMED OF YOURSELVES!!"

I turn to the boy behind me, his nose is dripping blood, and the bruises are already starting to appear on his face, eyes swollen with tears and fist-blows.

The tram pulls to a hault, and I open the doors, and shove the two of us out the door, giving everyone the finger as I leave, hoping that I've atleast changed one persons perspective of the situation.

I hug the boy, making sure he's alright, trying to show him that someone cares.

We sit on a bench, smoking a cigarette, trying to clean up his face.

He dosn't really know what happened, he looked at the guy and he just seemed to take it the wrong way. HE HADN'T EVEN DONE ANYTHING WRONG!

I just can't wrap my head around this. Why did nobody care, or try to stop it?

Why am I the one, the only one, who felt the need to help.

I didn't think of myself as a particurly caring person, but I will not stand for this kind of injustice.

We chat awhile longer, exchange numbers and go our separate ways.

I'm not even half-way home, I will have to walk another thirty minutes along the canal before I can crawl into bed, as that was the last tram home.

It's so dark. Dimly lit street lights and the occassional car headlights are all that light my path.

I wonder, what if something was to happen to me right now? Would anybody help me? Or would they just whip a camera out to start filming my troubles of the night?

This is what's wrong with our world.

We are all so obsessed with filming and sharing, trying to clamber our way to the top of this popularity contest we call life. We would rather see someone possibly get beaten to death, than to try and help.

We need to change. Stop being so selfish, and self-absorbed. Help eachother out, because we have bigger fish to fry as a nation of human-beings. We need to join forces, not tear eachother down.

I think about this night alot. It has shaped the way I think.

I will always help the underdog; the person in need; the person who can't help themselves.

I stand for justice, for me, and for everybody who comes after me.

I will not be apart of these world-wide games, these injustices.

I challenge you, to help. Don't just be a blind-eye. Step in, and step up.

Be the change that you want to see.

Because ultimatly, that could have been any of us, and I would like to think that if I was in trouble, someone would help me out.

Here's to hoping that there are more people on my wave-length, more people that feel the same, and here's to us, making the changes that we want to see in this world.

Here at Christmas, I was layed off my job.

I was layed off because I reported my boss for discrimination.

For making fun of me, and whispering with the other employees about me.

He was in turn made a DM. Now his mission is to get rid of me.

Because I haven't did anything wrong, he decided to get the new manager

to put me on the street because I had to use a stool because I had a pinched nerve in

my hip. He said he was putting me in the street for Christmas because he needed to

know how long did I need the stool to sit, and how long to stand? Discrimination again.

So now ask me what kind of Christmas am I having?

Answer: A No Christmas Day for FOUR Grand Children Christmas. I heart hurt.

Please stop

Saying that name

It's not mine

It's not me

I'm not a she

They

Not she

They

Just use my real name

My real pronouns

She isn't me

I know you think

You know who I am

But you don't

You never have

That's not my name

That's not my name

Please just use my name

That one isn't mine

It doesn't belong to me

Just use my name

They they they

I'm a they not a she

Why can't you see

That that's not me?

That's not my name (use my name)

Those aren't my pronouns (they they they)

That's not my name (use my name)

Those aren't my pronouns (they they they)

Please stop

Saying that name

It's not mine

It's not me

This is a song I wrote a while back, wishing that my family would use the right name and pronouns. I know I'm not the only one who feels like this, and I hope this helps my #trans #brothers, #sisters, and #siblings feel less alone, and more heard. You'll be accepted some day, my friends.