It’s sweet.
It smells faintly of burnt caramel and is best served with tea.
It’s that thing we like to call, history.
I compare it to dessert, confused you may be.
Yet it's quite simple really.
Much like dessert, what we call history has been sugarcoated severely.
It is the truth hidden beneath the tall tails of victory, of success and utter synergy,
It is lies on top of truth that the world may never see,
It is alliance and trade that never happened never came to be,
And it is everything it should never have to be.
You see, it’s never the whole picture, and that’s what “true” history is to me.
It is fragments of voices and barely half the words of populations,
It is the words of the winners against the rest of the nation,
It is the Europeans against everyone else,
But they’ll never show the losing side or the pain they truly felt.
They’ll lather it in batter and bake it to their preference,
And blame it on the cookbook when there is an indiscretion,
They’ll never once admit a fault, admit a fallacy,
They’ll never own up to the oppression that lives on endlessly.
They’ll knead the dough to their liking and they’ll sprinkle a couple more well-done lies.
The result?
Sugar cookie stories,
At the expense of our lives not theirs of course,
But are we really surprised?
The way they cook things up, the way they bake it?
The world was never fair
—but maybe someday we’ll make it.