I have spent these last few weeks incessantly mulling over every new update in the media.
Oftentimes, I am left with this empty feeling.
It is like a stranger has come up to me offering solace, only to viciously rip my heart from my chest cavity and laugh as the beating slows to a distinctive crawl. Just to prove their power further, albeit unnecessarily, they pour lighter fluid on my once tender organ, and set it on fire.
Of course, in the scenario, I am able to witness this entire act, before I most assuredly die. I am unsure how realistic that is, but I imagine I could tough it long enough to see my body become defiled.
I am sure this graphic reimagining of my potential death might have frightened you.
That was its intended purpose.
Many have died between my first publication on this site and this update I am posting tonight.
Whether this was due to the virus burning holes through our population, or innocent people of color losing their lives to police brutality, death has taken upon itself to put the United States in a vice grip.
Our Nation has its heart on the pavement, with several-hundred thousand canisters of lighter fluid hovering in the air, waiting for the fires to ignite change.
We are bleeding for our lost family members, who spent their final moments alone in a hospital bed, confined to a room made of relentless beeping and lungs burning hot like rage.
We are bleeding for our lost family members, who spent their final moments surrounded by people, begging for the light of another morning and lungs burning hot like rage.
I can’t breathe.
I can’t breathe.
Between COVID-19 and the passing of George Floyd.
The Nation’s lungs are exhausted.
They are tired of gasping for air and for freedom.
Our Nation has its heart on the pavement, with several-hundred thousand fists of color hovering in the air, waiting for the protests to ignite change.
“Must we rip out all of America’s organs, to be granted safe passage into the next era?” the naysayers shout from their sumptuous chairs gilded with privilege.
“Must we rip out all of America’s history, to be unified?” the naysayers shout from their salon chairs, after being given every damn thing they have ever asked for.
Statues of inaccuracy fall unapologetically, decorated with badges of spray paint.
Statues of misguided forefathers fall brazenly, decorated with badges of their false representations.
Must we rip out all of America’s organs? Must we?
Must we rewrite history?
History was designed to be rewritten. History was designed to be made, every single day.
No one people can dictate the power of a movement.
No one agency can dictate the power of someone else’s abbreviated life.
You gasp at the sight of millions, gathered in unison, for a man you did not know, for a movement, you cannot understand.
He gasped under the weight of decades of systemic racism.
You cannot understand because you chose not to.
When push comes to shove, where will your heart be laid out? Will someone take it by force? Will you watch idly by, as the Nation tears apart the body of American history, or will you take an arm in its dismantling?
Will you be willing to feel the pain of your own heart being burned alive, to abide in the necessary change this country needs to end this systemic hatred?
Hatred against people.
Hatred against science.
Hatred against fear.
Oftentimes, I am left with this empty feeling.
Oftentimes, I am left with this fulfilling optimism.
No one agency can dictate the power of someone else’s honorable life. Even after death, his pulse can be felt strongly in the fists of advocates across America.
.
.
This is dedicated to those that lost their lives to police brutality in our Nation. This is also dedicated to those who have been disproportionately affected by systemic racism in our many established institutions throughout the United States.
We must do what we can to push for change, even if it means tearing down the status quo.
Please, go vote and call your representatives. Do not ever remain quiet because the other side wants nothing more than to silence you.
Never let them silence you.
Never.
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