Kana na kana I say what I mean in my own words. My tongue clacking like geese and you look at me like I grew horns and married Satan.

“what?” you ask without pause, without thought, without care for the air that carries your disgust, “what?”

Nič I say because I always say that because I know that the real words aren’t ones you wanted to hear, their different sounds like razors to your veins.

So I sit here and write these words and people send messages full of hate because the words they can’t understand confuse them. Because the words they can’t understand make me stupid. and dumb. and racist.

Soske? Soske si man?

I keep writing about my words, how they’re my words, how they’re worthy words, heavy words, words that are just as beautiful as your words.

Savore sam kadaj, but you tell me we’re not. That I should be ashamed of my words, of my tongue that strokes these different sounds indecently. Of my heritage, my history, my people. My language has just as much right to this space and this air as your does.

My people too.

Savore sam kadaj thaj te predel duma.

Maybe you should listen. Maybe you should open your ears and close up your mouths. Maybe you should put away your blog post tags and your illusions of superiority and sit your asses down. Bešes!

These are my words. Their round and full shadows fall on the floor as I scream them silently onto this page.

This white page.

te pisinav, dav dumi.

šunes.

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