I will not march.

I will remember all the times you refused to march with me.

I will remember all the long, lonely nights that I marched alone.

I will remember all of those I marched with, long before you decided to arrive.

I will remember all those I marched for, long before you decided to acknowledge them.

I will remember marching away from my school, my home, my family, my entire lifestyle, into a vast unknown that challenged every aspect of my being, marching toward what I believed in.

I will remember you saying marching was too far out of your comfort zone.

I will remember the many hours I marched, through parking lots, grocery stores, campuses, parks, hot summer events, and downtown streets, registering every person I found.

I will remember the many miles I marched, door to door, pleading with people to march themselves to the polls.

I will remember you were too busy, it was too rainy, too hot, too cold, for you to march with me.

I will remember marching through neighborhoods of people depending on the Affordable Care Act, Planned Parenthood, and the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program.

I will remember you were too “uncomfortable” there to march with me.

I will remember dreaming of a women’s march on January 20th, with one woman who told the world women’s rights are human rights before you claimed it as your truth.

I will remember you insisting she was too flawed, too stuffy, and too off putting to march for.

I will remember marching against a man who spoke approvingly of sexual assault.

I will remember you deciding, on your moral high ground, you could not march for someone who messed up her emails.

I will remember pleading with you, begging you, imploring you to march with me because our outcome was not certain.

I will remember you saying Nate Silver told you marching was unnecessary.

I will remember asking you to march.

I will remember you did not.

I will not march with you, I’ve already marched.