Lucky

 

𝗖𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴/𝗧𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗴𝗲𝗿 𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴: 𝗧𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗽𝗼𝗲𝗺 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗮𝗶𝗻𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝗳𝗲𝗿𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲𝘀 𝘁𝗼 𝗲𝗺𝗼𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝗮𝗹 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗽𝗵𝘆𝘀𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗹 𝘃𝗶𝗼𝗹𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲, 𝗶𝗻𝗰𝗹𝘂𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘃𝗲𝗿𝗯𝗮𝗹 𝗮𝗯𝘂𝘀𝗲, 𝗵𝘂𝗺𝗶𝗹𝗶𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻, 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗵𝗮𝘁𝗲 𝗰𝗿𝗶𝗺𝗲𝘀. 𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝗱𝗶𝘀𝗰𝗿𝗲𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝗶𝘀 𝗮𝗱𝘃𝗶𝘀𝗲𝗱.

In a world that often feels, 

More like a battlefield,

Than a home,

There are those who say: 

You're lucky.

𝗟𝘂𝗰𝗸𝘆:

Because your family didn't turn their backs, 

When you showed them your true colours.  

Colours as radiant as the dawn,

Yet in their acceptance,

You're reminded,

That love should not be,

A stroke of luck  

𝗟𝘂𝗰𝗸𝘆:

Because the streets you walk,

Only shower you with words -

And not with acid or hate,

Dressed in violence.

They say:

This time, it was only urine,

As if humiliation,

Is a softer kind of pain. 

𝗟𝘂𝗰𝗸𝘆:

Because this generation,

Is slightly kinder,

Than the last.

As if that's the achievement,

They should strive towards. 

But here is what they don't understand,  

About luck and love and life:  

Our existence is not a lottery ticket,

To be deemed fortunate or forsaken.

We are not lucky to be loved,

We are worthy,

Worthy of love that doesn't measure, 

How much we conform to their comfort. 

We are not lucky to walk safely,

On the streets that belong to us all.

We are rightful,

Rightful to exist without fear,

In the light of day or the shadow of night.  

So when they tell you, 

You're lucky,

Remember:  

Luck has nothing to do with it.