Tag Archives: Murder

Going Insane When The World Is Too Much

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Social media and going live on it gives some people the nerve to cowardly disregard the value of life. I’m sick to my stomach at the fact that someone’s murder is something that’s just tossed around on social media without a care. As if someone’s life is nothing. I’m disgusted with this, as well as the murderer. There’s no respect at all. Not for the living nor the dead. The victim’s name was Robert Godwin, Sr. and his life was valuable to his loved ones. His life was valuable and it was taken away on Resurrection Sunday. My heartfelt condolences go out to Robert Godwin, Sr.’s loved ones. These are my feelings on a Monday afternoon: going insane when the world is too much.
An execution was broadcast for all to see,
As if his being means nothing.
As if his life is just a sideshow in a country in chaotic disarray.
I’m angry with disgust,
As humanity is anything but humane
With its habit of devaluing life.
To BE or not to BE.
With all of the world’s problems laying heavy on my mind,
I rest my head in my hands
And I ask the universe, “Why?”
What do you do when the rain can’t wash away your tears?
Where do you go where your silent cries can be listened to?
Saying, “Fuck it” is what I can’t refrain,
And I don’t know what the fuck to do to keep from going insane.

What Do You Do?

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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?

My Heaven Is My Happiness

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My heaven is my happiness.
A sacred place I’ve searched for all of my life.
A freedom I can’t really describe,
But a freedom I’m grateful to have.
My heart and shoulders feel light at times,
As if I’ve been reborn.
I can see the world with new eyes,
And experience what life has to offer with open arms.
And then heaven’s eyes stop watching over me.
Just as my heart feels light sometimes,
At times my heart feels heavy.
It weeps as it’s full of sorrow.
Just as my shoulders feel light at times,
Sometimes I feel that the load is too much to bear.
Sometimes I feel trapped.
I feel stuck.
Feels like my time could be up.
Feeling faint as more beautiful bodies lie cold in the dust.
My heaven is my happiness.
But when will I ever leave hell?
You tell me.
And tell me the truth.

I Can’t Help But Wonder. Will I Be The Next Victim?

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     Earlier today, I saw a blog post regarding the tragic, but all too familiar event of another victim murdered by the hands of racial injustice. Her name was Sandra Bland. I left a response to this blog post stating that it seems like Black men and women are being hunted and murdered, as if hunting and murdering people is a sport. I made a promise that I’ll do everything that I can to help bring about freedom, justice, and equality in this unjust world that we live in.

     As the list of Black bodies that didn’t matter gets a little longer each month (along with the growing list of activities that Black people apparently can not do), let us say a prayer for them all, and let us say a prayer for all of us. Now is the time to act. It’s been time. It’s always time. Now is the time to act, and bring about the change that we want to see. My name is Samara Marie Douglas, but I am Sandra Bland. Being Black in America proves to be complex, as well as dangerous. And as I sit here and write these words, I can’t help but to wonder will I be the next victim?

     I’ve been an elementary educator for 20 years now, and incorporating weekly classroom community meetings into my day has proven to be an effective practice for me to get kids started on the road towards fighting for freedom, justice, and equality. Our classroom community is a safe haven for my students to express their innermost thoughts. It’s a space for them to express what they don’t understand about our world. It’s a space for them to ask questions about what they don’t understand, and to get answers. Our classroom community meetings give my students a chance to be heard and to be listened to. Our meetings help students understand that their voices are powerful. The power in their voices can fuel a fire to fight inequality and other ills of society, even at their young age. It’s never too early to start a crusade for change.

     In our classroom community meetings, students have the opportunity to learn about the world in which we live, and to understand where they fit within our world. With this, comes knowledge of self and self confidence, which is needed to help them internalize that their lives do matter. Their words matter. This is their world too. During our meetings, students have the opportunity to brainstorm ways that they can make a difference in our world, starting now. It is my hope that my students remeber what they learn in our weekly meetings, and transfer these ideas out into the real world one day.

     My hope is for my students to be the next Freedom Fighters. We’ve been traveling on a long road towards our rights of freedom, justice, and equality. It seems to be an infinite road with an uncertain end point. All we can do is put in work to get there and have faith. Someone has to continue this fight when we can no longer. The fight for these 3 deserved rights must go on. The fight for freedom, justice, and equality must go on for Sandra Bland and all of the other Black lives that didn’t matter.

     I dedicate this post to my 5th graders who just graduated, and are now moving on to middle school. As I said at graduation, I’m very proud of all of you. I believe in all of you. I love you all. You were the best 5th graders ever. May you continue on your journey to be the best that you can be.

When Beautiful Black Turns To Blue

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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.