I’m scared. For me, for my family, for my friends. I didn’t even think I was going to write anything because I didn’t think I could articulate the way I feel properly. All I have are cuss words. The biggest of cuss words that my mother would be ashamed to hear from my mouth but that’s just how I feel. I have that lump in my throat whenever I think about my brothers and male cousins who are seen as a threat simply because they exist. I’m afraid for myself, my sisters and cousins who have a new worry of being shot in our own beds on top of the years of harassment we’ve endured. The way we are being treated and have been treated is deplorable yet some people find ways to justify our murders.
I don’t care for anyone’s neutral opinion about this. Targeting us can never be justified. And I don’t want to hear anything about respecting authorities because that’s still not the reason. Just last week white people were yelling, screaming and spitting in police officer’s faces because they’re tired of being quarantined and not a soul was tear gassed, pinned down, arrested or killed. The color of our skin is the target and I’m disgusted by anyone who says otherwise. When my friends call to tell me they’ve been pulled over, I don’t even need to hear the rest of it for my heart to start beating faster and my hands to start shaking. They’re alive to tell the story but it could have gone differently and I will always think about how it could be someone close to me when there’s another news report of a black person being killed at the hands of “law enforcement”.
Staying informed means ingesting trauma. The traumatic videos are being posted all over my timeline and I try not to watch it so I read the report instead. But the report is so shocking that I end up watching the video anyways and my heart sinks. Then I take some time off social media because my eyes fill up with tears each time I see a post about the death of another innocent black person who was handcuffed, sleeping in their bed or just sitting on their couch in their own home. I tense up sometimes when I’m in the common area of my apartment complex because I’m on high alert of anyone looking at me too long because it can turn into “what are you doing here?” as if I don’t pay the same rent they do for the same dam amenities.
Our feelings are more than valid. We are mad as hell and fed up. Some people will never know how we feel and it’s not our responsibility to demand them to understand us. We are all we got and I will continue to be the best support I can be for everyone that looks like, for everyone that’s a target like me.
I love and value black men, black women, black people.
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