To be black and live in America is to live through trauma.
Black lives do not matter. Animals and walls get more respect and consideration than black people do.
People are murdered in their homes and yet they are made to be villains.
Even in their deaths the world tries hard to turn the tables so even sympathy is not given.
Oppression makes a wise man mad. And continually perpetuating trauma makes a person numb.
But
life goes on and we keep pushing because our souls weren’t created to quit.
Some of us march, some pray, others protests, rebel and raise holy hell and no one can say any of them are wrong.
Because collectively we are grieving and enraged all at the same time; we have lost so many and each death effected us, even if only subconsciously.
Every death by the hands of the police has you questioning your safety during what should be a routine traffic stop.
Have you reconsidering mentioning the police as someone a child can turn to and be safe with in times of trouble.
Parents have had to change the narrative of their coming of age stories especially with their black male children to include how to live through an interaction with the police.
It’s crazy to have to explain that typically black people are seen as guilty until proven innocent and even then they are sometimes still punished.
Society might have removed the chains, but they’ve held fast to the cruelties and tenets of slavery.
Yet somehow we still make strides and make moves because our souls weren’t created to quit.
With tear stained faces and red rimmed eyes we still stand tall with our fists held high.
Burdened by the struggle to be recognized as human, worthy of life, deserving of justice.
Fighting to matter.
~micaiah
MYD Dreams 