I remember you, Mother,
not in fragments, but in fullness
a presence woven into my days,
the shelter of your arms,
the steady warmth of your gaze.

You loved me,
you nurtured me,
you protected me,
never too close,
always just enough freedom
to let me grow,
while knowing you were there.

Others knew you differently
a sister, a friend,
a confidant, a soul with laughter and sorrows.
But the mother I knew
was the same for each of us

my brother, my sister, and me

you held us all in equal light,
loving and nurturing,
carrying our fears as though they were your own,
holding our small world together
with nothing but tenderness.

Many years have passed
since that August day you left,
yet your love lingers,
a thread I carry still
a quiet strength
that shapes who I am,
a light I cannot lose.

O Mother,
though the years widen their distance,
I remain your child,
cradled by the memory of your care.
Your love is mine forever,
and through us,
you live on.

I am not of faith,
I am of reason.
Where others find comfort in belief,
I search for clarity in proof.

Faith asks for trust without sight,
a leap into the unseen;
but reason keeps my feet
on ground I can measure,
on truths I can question,
on answers that withstand the weight of doubt.

Religion begins
where explanation ends.
It thrives in silence,
in the places where reason cannot speak.
For many, that silence is solace.
For me, it is emptiness.

I do not deny the light that faith gives to others,
but my light is inquiry,
my prayer is understanding,
my devotion is to logic,
my worship is in truth revealed
through patience, thought, and proof.

I am not of fait,
I am of reason.
And in reason,
I find my peace.

The memories I hold fast,
gathered as a child
when time moved slow,
and every breeze
was a new lesson whispered.

The slam of the old screen door,
a bird’s familiar song,
a scent that pulls me back,
the smell of breakfast rising
from the kitchen,
as I rubbed the sleep
from my eyes before school.

These were the treasures,
but as a young man
I had no time to open them.
I was running headlong into life,
chasing work, love,
the next horizon,
while those memories waited patiently,
content to live beside me,
quiet as shadows
until I was ready to see them.

But now, as an old man,
I move more slowly.
The chase is behind me,
the horizons have been met.
Now I pause,
I listen,
I lean into silence,
and there they are again:
the echoes, the scents, the songs
I once outran.

For every small detail
is a doorway,
a hidden passage
to where I once belonged.
A secret trip
to long ago.

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.

Until you…
I had never known
what makes a heart truly beat.

You are the glow
that awakens my spirit,
the tremor beneath my feet,
the hand that steadies me.

Until you…
I had only dreamed of love
a longing I could never hold,
an image I could not release.

But now I stand before you
not desperate, but whole.
Ready…
to be the best of me.

So I vow,
to honor the love you’ve shown me,
to cherish the joy you’ve given me,
and to never forget
that until now…
I had never known
a love like this.

Yeah, I said it.
Your kids are lazy
Not because they’re broken,
But because you broke the cycle.
You gave them a screen,
Not a skill.
You gave them silence,
Not structure.
You gave in
Instead of showing up.
You didn’t wanna deal,
So now they don’t know how.

Yeah, I said it.
We bred a generation of slackers,
Who push buttons but don’t push themselves.
When I was their age,
We had summer jobs,
Cut grass, flipped burgers,
Sweated for a dollar
Because goals meant something.

You placed your child in front of a screen
Because you didn’t want to entertain them.
You didn’t send them outside to play
You coddled them.
When their grades slipped,
Did you help them?
Or just ask around,
Waiting for the school to fix it?
Now the schools are stripped bare,
Defunded and dying.
Back then, we had after-school sports,
We learned how to lose,
How to win,
How to be part of a team.
But these kids?
They show up at my door,
No eye contact, no backbone,
No clue how to speak like they belong in the world.

Now I’m training kids
Who don’t even want the keys.
They don’t wanna be the boss,
They just want the break room.
No grind.
No plan.
Just vibes and complaints
About rent,
About food,
About life
But they don’t want more,
They just want easier.

Yeah, I said it.
They wear pajamas with pride,
And call it style,
But don’t own the ambition
To move beyond survival.
And I get it
The system’s rigged.
Education costs more than it’s worth,
Healthcare’s a maze with no map,
And the ones in charge?
They don’t give a ****.

Yeah, I said it.
We are divided by design.
Because unity doesn’t win elections.
Hate is a headline.
And kindness?
That’s for suckers now.
Being cruel is political currency
And people are cashing in.

So yeah, I said it.
And I’ll say it again.
Because silence is complicity,
And I’d rather be the villain
With a mirror
Than the hero with a blindfold.

But now I’m saying this
It’s not too late.
Turn off the screen.
Talk to your kids.
Hold them accountable.
Teach them how to speak,
How to strive,
How to fail,
And still keep going.
Show them what it means
To earn something,
To dream bigger,
To stand for more than just survival.

Because the truth?
We don’t need more noise.
We need leaders.
We need parents who parent,
Kids who hustle,
Teachers who are paid,
And a country that gives a **** again.

Yeah, I said it.
But don’t just hear me
Do something.