This is one of those nights where I truly feel Black People are hopeless. That the fight and struggle isn’t worth it. That the emasculation of our men, the violence against our women, the abandonment of our children has finally taken us over the edge.
We trust yt supremacy, racism, hatred, censorship more than we trust each other. We can’t even disagree without totally writing each other off. The second a misunderstanding happens we dismiss an entire movement.
No questions asked.
Beaten. Broken. That’s what we are. We truly think we’re fighting the good fight. We think we’re standing up for what’s right. All we’re doing is fighting a fire by pouring gasoline on it.
Nights like these make me reconsider having children. I mean… how could I?
What world would I be leaving my babies in when I died? Would they even make it to adults? Or would we be saying their names like Tamir? Trayvon? Aiyana? How could I bring a child into this world knowing that there won’t be anyone to protect them once I’m gone?
Nights like these make me feel as if we’ve already lost. That we aren’t fighting at all. That we are comforted by oppression. We’ve become masochists thirsty and desperate for more pain. Even though we may complain, we thoroughly enjoy it.
Nights like these make me day dream of murder. Nights like these make me want to buy a one way international plane ticket. Nights like these feel hopeless. Nights like these stain my pillows. Nights like these make me want to give up on black people all together.
Thank god it’s only 3 hours until sunrise.