I'm angry, angry probably doesn't cover it, it's probably more a white hot rage that is not just too hot to touch but also must be handled with the levels of care given to used plutonium.
I'm angry at the everyday casual racism I experience, and I'm angry that I'm expected to play along because "I'm not racist, but."
I'm angry that anyone who says "I'm not racist but..." Really should begin their statements with "I'm racist, and..."
I'm not an angry person but I don't think my anger is unwarranted or unjustified.
I'm an angry person and if it's possible to reach the end of a tether, like reaching the end of a rope or the end of the line or some other nuanced way to indicate ultimate finality there I'm there. There's no life raft, or buoy, life jacket, or angel or some other synonym for salvation that escapes me this very moment. It's just me and my rage.
I'm angry that not even a rage-filled, blood-curdling scream could escape my lips, the anger I feel is better expressed as a long, wailing, eternal scream so painful it goes inwards, not out.
I'm angry that I'm too brown for the gays, too gay for the browns, not black enough to be immediately 'exotic' and thus have some validation but brown enough to have daily reminders from you that I'm not from here and try as I hard, in your eyes, I'll never be.
I'm angry that almost 50 queers were massacred in Orlando by someone that hated them, and possibly hated himself even more. I'm angry that we have said their names, as we must, but I know we won't always speak their names and we will certainly forget if we haven't already, that they were Latino.
I'm angry at the fact that I KNOW we have forgotten their race, or are on the way to, because the same people who are calling for an end to queer-based discrimination are some of the people with: "no Asians, no blacks, no Indians and no fats" on their social media profiles.
I'm angry and scared and terrified that the Brexit campaign, successive Australian prime ministers since Howard and the recent re-elevation of Pauline Hanson has given those who harbour bigoted views in the corners of their mind the licence to harbour them openly.
I'm disgusted that our Chief Law Officer of the Commonwealth has proudly claimed that we all have a right to be a bigot. You know?
I'm livid at every single person that made me feel like the act of wanting to kiss another man, let alone actually doing it was not only personally polluting but somehow collectively repulsive.
I'm angry the same people will never know that for me, the act of kissing another man or at least wanting to is one of the most exhilarating feelings I have ever experienced.
I'm angry that arriving in this great country as a refugee is somehow corrupting to your imagined morals or deficient or dirty and definitely unwanted and under-appreciated.
I'm angry that those Australians that came in chains in 1788, to enslave a new subset of people, somehow have more legitimacy in everything than I will ever have and definitely more than the very people they came to colonise.
It angers me that we over celebrate white achievement over multicultural successes and certainly more than any Indigenous achievement.
It boils my blood that you have more familiarity with my food and language than you do with my successes, my weaknesses, my struggles and my ambitions, not as an individual but as a Latino born Australia-raised person. There are thousands of us here, if you cared to look past the newest Mexican restaurant then you'd see us.
I'm angry you won't see us for who we tell you we are, but rather you'll tell us how we need to be seen, if at all.
I'm angry that my own Hispanic community makes me hate my gayness and the gay community make me hate myself, this body, this skin, even though there's nothing wrong with it.
I'm angry I don't genuinely emotionally truly believe there's nothing wrong with it even though logically I know this to be true.
I'm angry that the first people to betray my faith in trust and family and unconditional love were my parents.
I'm angry that they did not succeed in my ability to lose faith in love that is free of condition and the trust required to form meaningful relationships; had they succeeded then I would feel like I had a stronger basis for my anger.
I also have hope, I have hope in abundance, and in spades and in plenty and any other way you may want to explain oversupply.
Hope hasn't kept you reading however.
But I have hope, I have lots of hope, and love and an infinite capacity for both. My infinite capacity for love and hope is as boundless as my ability for anger is limited.
For now, I'm angry, I'll work on being hopeful later- it's my default position. My capacity for hope, is round and boundless.
That's for tomorrow.