Grief stands over me daily waiting for an ending.
First, at my conception when two Black bodies agreed on my death sentence.
Second, as I bathed in sand on that faithful playground praying I would return white.
Third, as my body felt the betrayal of my blood standing in my grandmother’s palace in the middle of the village.
Fourth, as I stare into my sister’s eyes knowing I cannot save her from her fate.
Fifth, when I am brought to my knees whilst my tongue translates my non-belonging.
Sixth, when I taste the bitterness of the silence between my grandmother and I. I cannot speak her tongue. Our tongue.
Seventh, whilst I sweep the path beneath my Black brothers’ futures as they’re chased. It is a call for blood.
Eighth, as my hair and body are prodded with Black hatred.
Ninth, as I bury dreams of reading my way out of being Black the hood.
Tenth, as the echoes of my skin dilute my past lovers understanding.
Remember me.
The only word that describes this piece is "important "
Everybody needs to read this❤️
who knew such simple words could hold so much power?