What is life to cold hands and an empty heart?
A meaningless nothingness.
A reflection of despair.
No humanity seen.
No love.
No care.
Mere ashes of hope gone dry.
Mere tears from when one cried.
No measure of value for bodies.
None for the dead nor alive.
Don’t know Time’s timeline.
Don’t know where Time hides.
And Mercy is nowhere.
Out of sight, out of mind.
Death’s touch is not selective.
Hearts break and bleed,
Without restoration.
What’s the point,
When Heartache becomes the norm?
What do you do when your heart dries out?
When there’s no blood left to shed?
When the beauty of bodies float away like dust?
When all you can feel is despair?
So many days and nights have my heart cried out,
To hollow ears who hear me not.
Hollow ears don’t hear my screams in the night.
Hollow ears know not my soul’s twists and turns.
And blind eyes don’t see my bloodshed,
When murderous hands perform the devil’s deeds.
So, what do you do when your heart cries out?
When there’s no one who seems to care?
Photo Credit: Sandra Bland Via Google Images
“We know the road to freedom has always been stalked by death.” – Angela Davis
Yesterday, Sandra Bland was laid to rest. Another Black body was laid to rest. Another Black body was murdered. Another Black body that leaves me full of questions that I want answers to. What happened? Why is it that Sandra Bland was in jail alive one minute, and the next minute she was dead?
So many heartbreaking questions fill my head.
Why can’t we just BE?
The list of things that Black folks can’t do is getting longer, with every Black body laid to rest. This list sends a message that Black folks are supposed to bow down to white supremacy and stay in our so-called place, like we’re living in the days of the master oppressing the slave. Fuck that shit! Just walking down the street seems to send a signal of, “I’m a threat.” My, no, our, articulate, intelligent, and wonderful selves are threatening to some folks. Our Black bodies just standing still are threatening to some folks. What it seems that we can’t do, is show our intelligence, our assertiveness, and our independence. And after Sandra Bland rightfully showed hers, she is no longer here. It makes me wonder how long will I be here? And who will be next?
So many heartbreaking questions fill my head.
Why did Sandra Bland have to die?
I was born and raised in America (wait…Amerikkka), and I feel like I have no home. I never really feel at home. Never really feel at ease. Never really know when white supremacy will take my last breath, like it took Sandra Bland’s. And as her death is being investigated by those of “The Law”, I wonder how many of them wear a white sheet when they go home at the end of the day? It’s going to be a long road to freedom, justice, and equality.
I don’t have time to have an ounce of fear, as there’s work to do. You better believe I will continue traveling down that long road towards freedom, justice, and equality. I don’t have time for doubt either. But I have plenty of time to have faith and hope. I have plenty of time to have strength and courage. I’ll need all four, as I do what I must in 0rder to survive. But I can’t stop at survival. I have to do what I must to be able to live FREELY. I am not an animal to be hunted. We are not animals to be killed for sport. I must do all that I can to make sure that it is understood that BLACK LIVES DO MATTER JUST LIKE EVERYONE ELSE’S. MY life matters. Sandra Bland’s life STILL matters. I owe Sandra Bland my all and my best.
Sandra Bland may be physically gone, but her strength, courage, and shining light will certainly live on.
“I think the importance of doing activist work is precisely because it allows you to give back and to consider yourself not as a single individual who may have achieved whatever, but to be a part of an ongoing historical movement.” – Angela Davis
I have no love song to sing.
No sweet soliloquy to recite
Underneath the stars.
I’m sick with a disease that has no cure.
My heart barely beats,
As the confusion of what justice is
Proves to be a consistent strain.
I feel as if a single bullet aimed for my heart,
And pierced it multiple times.
A single body is housing multiple deaths and heartache.
As I drew my last breath,
I whispered a little prayer,
And ascended upon a higher path.
I have no love song to sing tonight.
Only a puddle full of tears and blood.
My Feelings: When will you see me? See us? I can’t stop crying. No matter how righteous I live. No matter how educated I am. No matter how eloquent I speak. No matter how well dressed I am. I can go on and on about how well this, and how well that. Respectability means nothing, and I very well know it. Respectability will never save me from a bullet, and I know it. Nor will it ever shield me from the cruelty of white supremacy. No matter how much of a good human being I am, I’ll always be seen to some folk as an animal. A savage. A gang member. Uneducated. Sub human. A thing to be murdered, and tossed away like garbage, as if my life is worthless. When folk see the color of my skin, they don’t see me. They don’t see us. They see only what they’ve been taught to see and know. It’s America as I’ve grown to understand it. Sad. And I’ll spend the rest of my life fighting against a system that insists on fighting against me.
My heart weeps of sorrow,
In the darkest hour of the night.
Tears are shed inside,
Deep within my soul.
Yet, my tears can be seen and felt.
The weight of an unjust world
Has taken its toll.
It rests upon my shoulders,
And the load is much too heavy.
I’m tired,
As my weakened heart barely beats.
My heartache is too much to stand.
America has been killing me consistently.
A slow death it has been.
No knife to the heart.
No bullet to the dome.
Injustice will be my demise.
Won’t even have time to bid thee farewell.
Another black body blows in the dust.
It’s a sad song about us.
It’s about me.
It’s about you.
It’s what happens when black changes it’s hue.
It’s what happens when beautiful black turns to blue.
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