When I was a child, being innocent wasn’t enough

I wanted to feel safe and carefree, but I had to be weary of boys and men who thought nothing of my innocence 

The reality of this dichotomy still exists

 

When I was a teen, being studious and creative wasn’t enough

Here is where I again learned that boys and men don’t keep their words, let alone their hands to themselves  

I didn’t realize the reality of these generational curses until it was too late; like a sheep I was naïve, obedient, and silent

 

When I grew up, I just wanted to learn and make a life for myself, help others and to have a family of my own; to break the curses

No matter how hard I tried, I was again reminded that my body was a target, my intellect a liability and my voice a threat

I never found balance with the reality that the strength that I once had was no match for a world that didn’t want me to just “be”

 

I could never just be smart and a woman

I could never just be fun and lovin’

I could never just be vulnerable and at peace

I could never just be trusting of my own community and be protected by the police

I could never just be in love without abuse and manipulation

Never just able to be whomever I needed to be, for me, without hesitation

 

At any given moment, it’s as if my need to just “be” was too much for someone or some system or some social construct

My mind forever second guessing itself; am I “normal” or do I really need “help” – always thinking, “just speak like them”, blend in, it’s not always safe to just be yourself

 

Can never just be someone who sets and enforces boundaries because it makes their job harder to diminish me; battling egos that I had no hand in creating

Can never just be creative and innovative, because why would such ideas come from a woman like me, black; perpetually fighting poverty on the heels stolen ideas and misplaced ambition  

Can never just be in pain, grieving after suffering repeated traumas; always misdiagnosed for the sake of your billing practices, your needs; lost in the deception of capitalism disguised as healthcare and manmade disease

Can never just be open and vulnerable about past abuse without someone in the present using the knowledge against you–– to break me, to blame me

 

At some point the exhaustion kicks in and your mind slowly deteriorates from trying to fit into certain spaces, processes and systems just enough to be left alone; alone to just be

 

You show up to work, can work harder than everyone in the room only to be harassed and targeted for just being you, not gossiping, and advocating for equal rights and respect

I make calls and attempts assuming that I am dealing with competent and ethical professionals only to be treated like a child and with contempt – every EEO complaint dismissed

I’ll show up to a medical appointment hoping that my humanity is seen only to be let down yet again, treated as if I were a checklist and insignificant

One doctor repeatedly touched me inappropriately, touching my ass and then sliding his finger between the crevices, knowing that a black girl like me would never be believed – he was right

White therapist say she could see why someone like me would commit suicide, only to be treated as if my silver lining in the midst of pain was also my denial of being raped – they’ll never believe me anyways

I naively trusted in the same criminal justice system that ruthlessly kills innocent blacks before our very eyes only to realize that being raped (but not slain) also isn’t enough for receiving justice for a crime against my black body and mind

I now mute the TV during a rape or a sex scene, cover my eyes like a child wondering why this is perceived as “entertaining”; only to breakdown from the flashbacks, the memories and the reality that I was and will never live a normal, safe life – never, ever being pain-free

Even dealt with the kinda officer that rush you, the victim, to speak, laughs at your fears as you sit half naked in a cold room fighting back the tears and urges to break everything near

A hospital nonchalantly interrupting your testimony to make sure they’ll get all their money when you leave; staff that make you repeat every detail as if it was actually a simple story to tell; yet still wondering why rape victims blame themselves, never knocking before they enter your room

All of this compounded by the reality that we all watch the leader of our own country commit heinous crimes, spread bogus lies, and boldly encourage hate amongst his own citizens only for him to be praised and maintain his position (doing things we know we’d never get away with) 

Not to mention, we are in a fucking pandemic

 

So, if I can’t just be safe and be myself, knowing that I don’t mean to cause no trouble then what else is left?

I can’t even cross a street without a big red truck with an American flag waving trying to run me over, true story

Can’t sleep at night cause of the nightmares, but I wake up only to have day-mares of every tragedy that makes this life what it’s turned out to be, for me, a living hell

What kind of life is this if my only means to exist are: pain, tragedy after tragedy and a humanness that is perversely dismissed?

 

If I can’t live a life in peace, then I’d rather have the final say in death and no more regrets

I’ll never be anyone’s victim again, my body no longer a place to trace their criminal evidence

 

Ain’t fair that ya’ll try to control and determine every waking moment of my black life when you don’t even see my living, my breathing as human, deserving of equality and respect

Don’t mourn my decision when my living didn’t deserve your honor

Don’t dare put anything in my name that ain’t only going into the hands of all of the children and women that survived the rape, degradation and abuse by the men that our very system continues protect

Victims know better than our corrupt officials about what they need and what they know about the evils of this world

Don’t dare silence them like you did me and give them everything and more to repay for the years that you have implored hatred and evil acts upon them

Ain’t never gone be equal if ya’ll see our pain as propaganda and our strength as a weapon in which death and humiliation are the only recompense

 

As I finally die in peace, may my death provoke some form of awakening so that my life was not all in vain

The good moments and memories always fleeting and overcome by all of the pain

 

Don’t let them tell you nothing outside of the words that I’ve written and the art that I’ve made

Mental health did not send me to an early grave – it was repeated unimaginable injustices, generational traumas, inhumane treatment, the lack of a quality imaginable future, and the dread of surviving another day

 

It had to come to this:

There were all of these concepts and issues that I intended on researching and addressing fully in my second book, Savage, and subsequent inventions  I wanted to present the patterns of inefficiencies in not only how we are treated as minorities and women, but to highlight just how pervasive some of the oversight is. I wanted to propose radical solutions and bring light to my own confusion despite the pain. 

 

It’s overwhelmingly ridiculous that they have and continue to get away with marginalizing an entire group for the sake of fleeting power. No one has true power, not even them; for if they did, they wouldn’t feel the need to systemically abuse and ignore entire communities. People who truly know their power and abilities can work in teams and in groups without ever hurting another soul and concurrently seeing the humanity in everyone whether they “understand” them or not. Only cowards confidently speak up against and undermine the hope of others. Only cowards see themselves as superior for their inferiority has no other way to express itself. 

 

So, I leave without bothering to explain in detail what’s been repeated and screamed at the top of our ancestors’ lungs for centuries. New ideologies reimagined to push the innovation of our present technologies. I leave knowing that there’s no point of crying out to a world with self-serving agendas and selective memories…

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