Black Lives Matter

I hate feeling like this. I wander around Twitter and Facebook… and all I can do is barely hold back from weeping.

I want to believe things are better now than when any of us were children. Then, like a haunting and lilting tune, something like what happened to Michael Brown, Sean Bell, and Tamir Rice happens. Each time, something my mother once told me creeps back into my memories: “We’ve come a long way, but we’ve got a long way to go.”

Try as I might, the peacekeeper in me gets silenced by the activist in me every time. I can’t be out there marching… and the thought is eating me alive. So, likely to the annoyance of family and friends, I’ve made my voice heard online. Sorry if it annoys you, but this is my way to vent.

This story, and all others like it, I’ve followed for years. I’ve prayed, hoped, wished… nothing. I can’t stand this anymore!

I can’t stand feeling fear. Fear for my brother, my son, my cousins, friends from the old neighborhood, my brothers from other mothers, my sisters from other misters, friends from CUA and MSU.

I can’t stand feeling helpless. I can’t stand pretending to be okay with the status quo any longer. If remaining quiet only earns me a false sense of protection, I think I’d rather take my chances screaming to the heavens.

So I apologize to anyone that I make uncomfortable. I’m sorry if I run you out of my life. Forgive me if you get sick of seeing my name on your newsfeed or timeline.

But I’ve spent far too much of my life being quiet.

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