Being Black requires a choice
You can choose to live with hope or die of despair
Trying to be strong with weights laying on our chest
Gasping for air, yet they turn a blind eye
Generational chains reinvent themselves in the form of institutions
A world that seems to despise us
Still heavily relies on Black creations
Who knew trying to live your truth could be so exhausting?
We’re sick of writing eulogies for the innocent
Of trembling in places that are supposed to bring us comfort
Sick of fearing that if we make one wrong move, your finger will meet the trigger
And we’ll be destined to be the next hashtag that never got justice
Sick of the blatant disrespect and mockery of Black women
Of others assuming the worst of us because of our hair or dialect
Yet, capitalizing on our culture when it becomes the next trend
Sick of being ridiculed for things that a person with lighter skin is praised for
Sick of being terrified that one call to 911 could steal away everything we ever dreamed of
Sick of little Black children being taught the implications of their skin before they know how to ride a bike
Black trauma
A pain all too familiar
Pleading to others that our Black lives have value
Clinging to that last bit of sanity
It’s hard to choose hope and peace
It’s easier to become numb
Black people have had so much stolen from them
But they’ll never take our ability to be authentically us
We choose to relish in hope, despite it all
Basking in the melanated light of Black joy
Otherwise, the hate can consume you like a predator devouring its prey
Therefore
We laugh
We smile
We rejoice
We find the strength to fight on
We come from a lineage too monumental to not celebrate
Not just in February, but forever
A painful history binds our community together
But thankfully, we are exactly that
Together