Notes

in response to my race being responsible for themselves

when i was eleven i wanted to be beautiful. I wanted to dance with raindrops under sad skies in the middle of July in hopes that the clouds would look at me and dry their eyes-- i wanted to be bold. like permanent marker. No amount of solution you could think of to try to sink into me to remove the stains of my soul would prosper-- i would never fold. i wanted to be human. learn what interaction felt like-- what a stimulus could do to my nerve impulses-- leave my stained retina rectified--
but when i was eleven, i learned the only thing America would hand to me is a "nigga card" and a free ticket to a bullet in my back so that i could never have a voice loud enough to testify

this is my life. i live in a society who wants me to believe that i am only attacked because i chose to be like being one part innocent and two parts skittle and ice tea is not enough. a society where Christians will stand with pockets picketing for a change in homosexual communities, where nationalists will breathe in carbon dioxide breathe out oxygen for terroristic stereotyping, where woman will bleed for the same men that their bruises stimulated from; yet no one will help me. like no one can see-- that i am out here dying.

you constantly rebuttal "African Americans brought this upon themselves"

As if African Americans lock doors when white men walk by, as if African Americans play Russian roulette with Caucasian peoples lives, as if we as a people a collective live in a nation where everything built around us was made for us to make us feel at home, as if we scalped life here from Native Americans and spread syphilis throughout there home-- as a if we created separate school systems, made Caucasians stand up so that we could sit on the bus, as if Jim crow and the KKK wore brown, you make us-- seems as if we are demanding; as if we are terrorists threats, as if we are people who play God with peoples lives and then leave them out for dead. as if we shoot up schools, movie theaters, as if we played some awful role in this game of cruel--

this is your nation. your creation. minorities live by your ways. your constitution. your rules.