Waking up on these days,
I am praying.
I am praying for my family.
I am praying for myself,
seeking safety, while
yelling to our Mother:
"I know you love me, but they don't!"
I am praying for white courage beyond tears.
I am praying they set aside the normalcy of themselves and their feelings.
I am praying they see this different human being,
having a family,
living a life.
But, so many still need details after lynchings.
They still need to be told they matter in a nation where they wrote themselves human.
And to those that cry as we die, what are you waiting for?
I cannot give you permission to fix this.
There are no maps.
There is only the legacy of your ancestors that you must see as bullets of sweat fall down your face.
You must dismantle it.
Your skin has to be in the game, too.
I am real and the anxiety is beginning to have faces.
There is a boot upon my chest,
and I am yelling for our Mother:
"They are still killing us!"
I know she hears me, guiding us higher and truer, back to ourselves. I still yell:
"But, the people are hurting and the cities are still burning!"
She says, in almost a whisper, "Everything has order. You know what caused this, chile. It must be."
She tells me:
To shine. Our. Light. In. Darkness.
And I go run and tell that everywhere.