When you’re too afraid
to let them do what’s right,
too afraid yourself
to do what’s right,
yet you watch
watch me tear myself apart
to do what you’re too afraid to do.

I do what’s right.
Not because it’s easy.
Not because it’s safe.
But because silence
has never saved a life.
Because silence
has never broken a chain.

Your fear is comfortable
it sits quiet in your chest,
keeps your hands folded,
your head down,
your conscience clean.
But my fear has no such luxury.
My fear wears a target.
My fear walks into rooms
already judged,
already tried,
already sentenced.

And still—
I rise.
Still—
I speak.
Still—
I fight.

Because racism doesn’t die
from the whispers of the timid.
It doesn’t vanish
with well-meaning thoughts
and quiet prayers.

It dies
when courage is louder than comfort,
when justice is heavier than excuses,
when the ones who were afraid
choose to stand anyway.

So don’t tell me
you’re waiting for the right moment.
Don’t tell me
it’s complicated.
Don’t tell me
you don’t see it.

If your eyes are open,
then your silence is a choice.
And if your silence is a choice,
then your fear is complicity.

I will not tear myself apart
to stitch together a world
you are too afraid to build.

Do what’s right.
Do it trembling.
Do it unsure.
Do it afraid.
But do it
because racism will never fall
by those who watch,
only by those who act.