the weeds of fascism growing taller every day.

Inequality isn’t a statistic. It’s a child’s hollow eyes as they dig through trash for food. It’s a mother’s broken back, bent under the weight of three jobs and still drowning in debt. It’s the stench of despair that clings to the air on the wrong side of the tracks—thick, suffocating, inescapable.

Discrimination isn’t a policy. It’s a boot on a neck. It’s the curl of a lip, the sneer in a voice, the way a name can make someone’s face twist in disgust before they’ve even met you. It’s the walls you didn’t build but can’t climb. It’s the doors that slam shut before you even reach for the handle.

Oppression isn’t abstract. It’s the weight of a thousand hands pressing down on your chest until you can’t breathe. It’s the chains you can’t see but feel with every step. It’s the silence that screams louder than any protest.

And you—yes, you—sit there, blind, deaf, and dumb, pretending the storm isn’t coming. You don’t see the weeds of fascism growing taller every day, choking the life out of everything you claim to love. You don’t see how every time someone is dehumanized—every time a person is reduced to a problem, a statistic, a thing—the first seed of fascism is planted. And if you don’t pull the weeds, they’ll grow into a jungle. And by then, the only solution will be fire.

You think it won’t touch you. You think you’re safe because you’re not the one digging through trash, or carrying the weight of three jobs, or gasping for air under a thousand hands. But you’re wrong. Fascism doesn’t care about your comfort. It doesn’t care about your excuses. It feeds on your silence, your apathy, your "this isn’t my problem."

And when it comes for you—and it will come for you—you’ll wonder how it happened. You’ll wonder why no one warned you. But we are warning you. We’re screaming it in your face. Can’t you hear us? Or are you too busy covering your ears, too busy pretending the storm isn’t real?

Justice isn’t a courtroom. It’s not a gavel or a law or a polite request. Justice is a fight. It’s a scream. It’s the moment someone looks at you and sees a person, not a problem. It’s the moment the system stops grinding us into dust and starts lifting us up. But justice won’t come knocking on your door. You have to drag it into the light, kicking and screaming.

So wake up. Open your eyes. Pull the weeds before they grow into a jungle. Fight before the only solution is fire.

Because if you don’t, the storm will take us all.