I walk on the remains of my ancestors, down twisted and treacherous paths. I carry the scars of generations slung over one shoulder, pulling me off balance, and on the other I bear the silence of a thousand words unsaid.

Before me lie the ghosts of people gone before, their voices gone hollow from bitten tongues and screams. Try as I might, I cannot name them, because they were forgotten in the sands of time. But I know them, and I see them, and I hold their likenesses to my chest. They are my aunts and uncles, my cousins and grandparents and kin, and I will never let them go.

I am sorry.

I am not who you want me to be, cannot perfectly fit shoes that were never made for human feet. I am tired of trying to cut myself to fit in your ironclad box.

But still, I am here, walking this path, carrying these burdens. And surely that’s enough?

I am here, and you cannot deny me, because I am all that’s left. And you cannot deny me, because I am the shadows on this trail, and I am carrying you forward. I am carrying you forward.

I am carrying you to the finish line.