My boss is freaking me out, leaving me “presents”. He just came in to observe me like, “you are a really good teacher.”
He does not know what I’ve been dealing with. And how unjust it is. He has no clue, the actual hell — a few black people — have put me through. For absolutely no reason at all. A man, they do not even care about. Smh. I’ve never seen anything like it, outside of slavery.
I’d be even better if I didn’t have to deal with — terror. From the places I least expected it. It’s tough, cuz while I know how oppressed I am as a mixed black marginalized woman. I understand, now, that some black people have no problems in participating in oppression, when it benefits them.
It tells me — folks are fully — human. Race, irrelevant.
“Act like your oppressor so you oppress me.” — me.
I don’t believe in killing other people. Do I believe in protection from killers? Yes.
Men, or Women. Nobody should be threatening anyone’s life. The only people — I know, or fuck with — who do that? Are people who’s lives are threatened.
People will kill people for less than what those chics watched happen, for profit. People who know me, in real life, are like — who would do something like that to you? You are really good peoples.
This, is true. I don’t even kill animals. I feed stray cats and shit. Lol!
I don’t believe in race. I know racism is real. I experience it, like most black and brown people without privilege, daily. I erase nobody. I support others I respect, even when that respect isn’t returned. Promote them and they make money, i never see.
I believe in culture. And my culture? Is very diverse. Hip Hop. It’s not cooptation. It is my lived experience. With the people. I don’t get mad, at all, when women who are clearly not black Americans use black vernacular, or sleep with black American men. I could care less what your multiple cultures include. And whether you are a product of multiple cultures. That’s a beautiful thing. 😍
When I have something to say? I send a private message. You know this. “Don’t front, you know I gotcha open” — black moon.
Money really means very little to me.
Love means everything.
(And I want my money. That was stolen. As a mixed black woman, who struggles, on her own slave labor merits.)
(It’s very sad to lose children to senseless gun violence. It is also wise not to be an adult threatening someone with people who can kill you. Or with your own gun. It is not wise to steal things that don’t belong to you. It is not wise to really fuck with other people’s lives, who don’t know you, never heard of you, never did anything to you. That’s not very good. Especially to a mixed black woman — like you — darker than you, from poverty, not a middle class family. who struggles much much more. For other marginalized people. Not just myself.
I don’t own a gun. Never even held one.)
(It’s not pride. It’s justice. I’m a pretty humble person. I don’t plaster my face and body everywhere. I don’t pretend other people’s lives matter more or less than my own. I don’t lie, cheat, and steal. I work collectively, usually. I grew up in collective action. Not individualism. And not super capitalism, off marginalized black and brown people.)