Chatter
Falsely accused. Arrested. Not given a fair trial. Beaten. Condemned. Executed. This echoes too many stories of black people in this country. It echoes the story of a man who died on calvary over 2000 years ago. We have a collective history of violence. Our black bodies have been beaten and bruised since our arrival in this country. We have endured hardships and deliberate experimentation. We have been ostracized and sterilized. We have been sold promises of an unrealized American Dream. How many bodies must be stacked up in this nightmare on our street? So. We wake up and take to the streets in protest only to attest to rubber bullets fired in our direction. Tear gas choking us out. We can't breathe. You're on our necks like nooses from Southern trees. We will never have enough degrees cause we've never been given room...from the bottom decks of slave ships to concrete jungles in the sky to boardrooms. We've been groomed to grow roses in concrete. We learned to survive in gentrified neighborhoods that used to be our Black Wall Street. Everything we have...has been appropriated. We've always been on the frontlines. We were the calvary, infantry, and the air force. We understand excessive force oh too well. We've been hunted in Georgia since Antebellum days. We've nursed your babies and raised products of rape. Our blood turned Georgia clay Red. America has always redlined us with red tape. Outlined our bodies with chalk then gawk at us when we say black lives matter as if another name isn't added to the list from police radio chatter.
