Alright, it’s almost 2am over here…which means my mind is starting to think strange thoughts.

I wanted to talk about something that’s been on my mind a lot. Senseless censorship. Of literature.

Specifically darker literature and “banned books” that are kept from young, expanding, growing, curious and unbiased minds.

You know the ones…
Steinbeck.
Orwell.
King.
Rice.
Angelou.
Even some Shakespeare, Twain and Poe are kept out of the classroom and even from children in libraries.

It’s all part of this “sensitivity movement” that seems to have become part of everyone’s life. Adults fearing that the next generation, their children, who will inevitably inherit this world, will form opinions of their own that are *GASP* different from theirs!

Afraid they will not think the same way they do! Find things that aren’t exactly “proper” to be more interesting than the “safe” literature that is getting forced down their throats.

The generation that raised my generation crippled us. Severely. And all out of fear. They ripped classic books, great authors and controversial topics from the syllabus. All because they don’t want us talking about it, seeing it, hearing about it or worse…loving it.

But now, we are starting to take our inquisitive, diverse,  horror loving, debate inducing individuality back!

They tried to stuff us into these pre-made, sheltered, and sadly, heavily gendered boxes.

I saw something just now on tumblr, and it got me thinking of a lesson I learned early in life.

  That we must encourage our future generations to love art. music. literature. theatre. to sing. to play an instrument. To question things. Everything. All the time. Stray from the norm, you will be glad you did!

We must encourage them not just to read, but to read banned books. To cherish classic works of literature. To appreciate the beauty of dark literature works. See the necessity of the strangeness of it.

As a child, my mother read to my sister and I, darker books. Some, which we read in a classroom setting nearly ten years later. Others, that had been banned.

Yet, at the time, I didn’t know how big of an impact that would have, not just on me but my younger sister. And both of our world views.

But now, I’m grateful my mom shared her love of dark, classic and controversial
literature with us at such young ages. Because as we grew, and formed ourselves to who we are today, the both of us were given a gift.

We both kindled a spark of rebellion for different things. A passion for separate arts. But art nonetheless.

We have our own voices, and generally go against the grain. We see the “whitewashing” that is going on in the world and especially the media. We know there are people who want to mute our metaphorical megaphones, and water down our bright colors. We can see the issues of our generation getting swept under the rug. We know they’re trying to subdue us.

Yet, here we are. Still standing. Always fighting to change things.

We are mere specks of dust, but one day we will gather up other specks of dust and create dust storms.

My little sister, she hungers to right the wrongs she sees in the world, and thrives on the light she draws from the pieces of humanity she fits back together, until there comes a day she no longer sees these things. She’s compassionate in a very soft way, but she lives to stand up, fight and shout until someone listens; and she has righted all the injustices she encounters. Her weapon of choice is a camera lens. She will travel to the ends of the earth and changing how we see things.

I, however, thirst to tell the stories I have heard from invisible and broken souls, until they no longer fear the shadows they see at night. And I will do this quietly, with a pen upon paper. I shall write for all of those who got swept under rugs and pushed to the back of the line. And I won’t stop until we are all recognized for being who we are.

This unconventional world view we both share today, instilled in us both deep roots for change. A harrowing force of ferocity, a streak of adventure, a drop of wanderlust and the relentless need for extraordinary things. I accredit my natural talent for writing, my sister’s natural talent for drawing, to our father. But our unyielding love for dark literature and the need to stand up and shake things up? That came from our mother.

They never censored our musical choices, or sugar coated story endings. They let us read any and all books we wanted, they never restricted our library cards. And for those things, I can never thank them enough. They ensured that our thirst for knowledge was quenched, and our hunger for adventure, was fed.

Which is why it bothers me as much as it does that there are so many people out there raising children in a sheltered world where everything is bubblegum and rainbows.
They’re taking away things which may be slightly “uncomfortable” to read because they’re scared.

They are waging a war against our future and it’s time we fought back.