The Weight of Being Black In Unprecedented Times

I wish I could be surprised at how pervasive hate is distributed daily. How it lingers in dark spaces waiting to dismantle souls and glorify the same fear it unleashes onto innocent human beings. I am convinced that self-deprecation is a substance that people ingest when they desire to make others a target. Somewhere in America an individual is utilizing self- destructive behavior to create the most heinous war on black people that even their mere presence is a battlefield.

I wonder how long it takes an individual to devise a plan so malicious that they turn a human being into a boxing ring. I’m curious at the mindset of an individual who could manifest enough hate to want to destroy another human being just because of their skin color. It’s amazing how we repurpose trauma into a movement that trains adults and children to become unrecognizable to themselves. Meanwhile people are re-creating regular moments into a modern day lynching. How do you communicate to people who only speak violence?

When I heard about Breonna Taylor, Ahmaud Arbery, and George Floyd within weeks of each other, I picked up my voice like crushed glass afraid of what might happen if I allowed my devastation to unleash like a sledgehammer. I am fully aware of the delicate balance of carrying the weight of color and identity around people who are easily agitated. Scared of what might ensue when too much melanin is not properly contained around individuals who objectify bodies and perpetuate hostility for amusement. So I quietly swallow my tears as I continue the journey of being black and queer in America with the understanding that somewhere a person is raising a child to use their hands as a weapon to hurt others for being black.