My heart aches. What I've seen I wish I could unsee. I wish I could unhear it and unfeel what I feel. A righteous rage. To cry out. War. All kept inside, bottled up. A safe space. Set free. You look like me. I hear you. I see you. I feel you. Namaste. The God in me sees the God in you. A crying child, a generation abandoned. The nation turns it's back on US, accompanied by the world. Tears welling up. Chest hurts. Throat closes up. Experiments to do. Suck it up. Talk to who. Racism who? It doesn't exist. But I live it. This is my life. But it doesn't exist. I should be writing a proposal. Presentation tomorrow. Images burned into my mind. I can't erase them. My screen has words on it and all I see are the faces of my people crying out. Flashbacks. Post traumatic stress disorder. Sleepless, hungry, tired of being sick and tired. I am the hope and the dream of the slave. I am the hope and the dream of the slave. I am the HOPE and the DREAM of the slave. I am the hope and the dream of those in the streets. I am the hope and the dream of those on the front line being shot at and spit on and attacked by dogs, ridiculed for the world to see. Yet I'm here. While they are there. Disconnect. Distance and circumstances all crumble in the face of this beast and we are all the same. Marching together in this rain. Fists Up. Always up. Holding hands in prayer. A strangers bond. Listening with eyes and ears wide open. I love you, man. I LOVE you. He's my brother, she's my sister. None of this matters outside the microcosm because it doesn't exist. Anger wells up and no outlet. Helplessness. Holiness. Praying. Watching the world go on as if nothing happened. A people protesting, unheard, forgotten. Makes for good news coverage, shock value. Other countries take it as their opportunity to throw dirt back at the U.S. but they don't REALLY care about us.
The rebellion has started. The revolution will not be televised. It's never been televised. It's in the heart. The heart of those who are called. Called to love their sister and brother. Called to stand up for justice. We're marching, it's hot, it's raining, it's POURING. Looking around and it's just us. It's just us. It's just us. Just US. No one will save us. No one but us. A deaf ear, a blind eye, many keep going. The good samaritan story played out in real life. A slain warrior in the middle of the street. Body left for public display. Billie Holiday's strange fruit. True defnition of song cry. Many keep going,
some stop for publicity and keep going, some seem to help but motives twisted, only want their name and face to be seen-fame, and they keep going. Someone has to stop. Someone must stop. If it isn't you then who? If it's not now then when? The blood still sits in the street. The spirits of those slain evaporating in the muggy and hot heat. Like a public lynching. This is a public lynching. Remixed for 2014.
some stop for publicity and keep going, some seem to help but motives twisted, only want their name and face to be seen-fame, and they keep going. Someone has to stop. Someone must stop. If it isn't you then who? If it's not now then when? The blood still sits in the street. The spirits of those slain evaporating in the muggy and hot heat. Like a public lynching. This is a public lynching. Remixed for 2014.
In a safe space we discuss our feelings. Looking around at a sea of kings and queens who look like me. Geniuses and angels. Crying out for our fallen soldiers. Crying out for our hurting. Sick and tired of being sick and tired. Anger. A rebellion is born. Welcome to the revolution, I say. Welcome. From the elders of the civil rights movement, from our ancestors of the African Diaspora and slavery, welcome. Rise up and claim your rightful place. This will not be easy or fast. But be brave. Be well. When it gets physically sickening take a step back and be well. Love each other. Support each other. Live. I'm working on being well.
Father wasn't there. Mother wasn't there. But I had a grandfather. A militant Black grandfather. A love I've never known. Imparting his stories and history at a young age. Long winded. Didn't want to hear it but the seeds were planted. A little girl from the hood, kicking it at the salvation army with all the other hood kids. Hey Grandaddy, let me tell you about Ferguson. "I am PROUD of you". This is the proudest I've EVER been. To know that you care about something and someone other than and more than yourself is what this life is. This is what I fought for. Not for me but for you. For your generation. And now you must fight for those who come after you. The generation before you has failed you but you have to pick it up. The ones behind you need you. You are charged with carrying the torch that burns inside of you. A fire lit by God. Don't ignore it. This little light of mine, I'm going to let it shine.
“You are the light of the world. A town built on a hill cannot be hidden. 15 Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. 16 In the same way, let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven." Matthew 5:14-16
Faith steps in. This is what my faith is. My faith charges me to stand. What is it to believe and never exemplify. I stand and sing and pray and pay tithes (sometimes..I'm honest) but I'm silent when my brother is murdered. I'm silent when my children cry out. I'm silent when I pass by those living in poverty who look like me and aren't alotted the same opportunities. A shake of the head but it's become "normal". Kids back home dropping dead like flies. Kid shoots hiimself in the back of a cop car, while handcuffed. Drive-bys that never get solved. Princesses shooting for bad bitch status. Princes getting money. I'm silent and I keep going to church...my personal development and my tunnel vision relationship with God is growing. I can speak in tongue and pray a prayer to light your soul on fire. Heal myself by faith and those in my circle. Lately been feeling conflicted about what this all means. What is this church if it stays in these walls. We all practice self development under the disguise of God. I'm good on that. I'll just do my own thing. Living a life of love, lost but slowly being found in the wilderness of my heart and mind and spirit. But I was blindsided in Ferguson and the tunnel was shattered. A veil is lifted. This is what love is. This is what faith is. It is radical. It is revelation. This is God. To have a heart that feels and senses those around you. To put someone's life before your own. To not look away. To stop and acknowledge. To turn the tables over in a church like Jesus. To stand up to Roman empires. To stop like the good Samaritan.
Now what will we do with our degrees. What will we do with our stethoscopes and our lab coats and scrubs, our law degrees. We are the hope and the dream of the slave. This school (Meharry), your school (HBCU especially) is the hope and the dream of the slave. People literally DIED so that we can sit in the seats that we sit in. We now hold these seats and we sit on their blood and their sacrifice. Let us not forget. Let us be reminded. This is a wake up call to the sleeping giants. A wake up call to the warriors. Yes excel in school, yes become a doctor, a dentist, a scientist, business owner, CEO. But stand for your brothers and sisters. The opportunities afforded to you must be made available and accessible to them. For our brothers and sisters who are gay, lesbian, trans, and women too. Do not conform to a mold and be afraid to speak out. Let not your white coat act as an invisibility cloak to who you are. Deep seeded oppression so engraved that we identify it as ourselves. Be bold. Be free. It's just us. Be free. Be free and be well.
And these are my thoughts from Ferguson.
**Shoutout to Carmine Matlock for some of the pics**
And these are my thoughts from Ferguson.
**Shoutout to Carmine Matlock for some of the pics**
