I really don’t know what to say anymore. About anything. To anyone. There is a constant tapping going on inside my head. Reminding me that the drums are not dead. The more chanting we do the less action is taken. Has no one the answer for a life of such contradiction?
The one in which we’re expected to embrace the past and know our history. All the while perfecting our best eggshell dance on a daily, careful not to offend. Making sure to don the right uniform even during times of leisure. “How many J. Crew oxford shirts, pairs of khakis and comfortable brown shoes do I need to buy my son, brother or nephew to ensure his safety?” says any and every Black woman with her ear to the street.
The bloodshed is loud. Always has been. Screams from every corner. Faces etched in gravel. Knees scraping the ground. Arms pinned back. Chests collapsing under the weight of yet another fearful man. The bloodshed is loud. Always will be. It sings of voices stilled too soon. A familiar muttering that we, Black people, know too well.
No amount of soothing, protesting or intellectual debate can ever stamp out this sound. There is no answer. So, please stop posing the question. We are forever stained as a people and a country. We are forever stained as a people and a country…