Golden curtains, sunshine creeping in,
thinking of a lifetime ago that was drenched in sin.
I prefer this calm, this clarity, this peace
compared to cigarettes, beer and wondering if I would come back
in one piece.
The world is unkind, worse
where people always scrambled, always, to be the first
the first of what, exactly? What pedestal? What platform?
where brothers and sisters died in the name of reform.
I see the news, the articles, the journalists, the citizens, the protests
every ounce of humanity put to the test,
Black Lives Matter, Black Lives Matter, Black Lives Matter
They always mattered but no one listens, some are scared
All lives cannot matter until they're heard
Until they are seen,
Until they are felt,
Until they are joined.
I spent this day breaking, unlearning, cleaning for a new slate
and studied what I could, from Black creators, and I will remember
this date, particular date.
It does not matter that I turned twenty-five.
It should matter that they should be alive,
It should matter that they should be breathing,
It should matter that they should be here.
Too much, it is too much. Systemic, Jim Crow, Lynching,
the world is unaware of their power, and their fire,
their desire and their right to live, just live
and not be divided by shades of color
different from each other.
I turned 25 on June 3, the eve of the Black Lives Matter protest. It was not the right time to make it all about me, so I dived into reading, watching and listening to content made by Black creators, authors, artists etc. that have fully changed the way I know about racism and how it affects them, every day of their lives, since they were sold as slaves.
The protests don't end. It never did.
May we never become complacent. Ever again.