Dear Someone

Dear Someone,

I’m not sure why, but I am compelled to write a letter to you who ever you are. In this moment, I wish to lay in upon

Melanin

the bosom of grace while the arms of love wraps its motherly hands around my head. I want to unconditionally express my blackness in the way I have never mentioned before. May I, stranger?

I am well aware of the strikes against me. I am aware of my history and its struggles with white supremacy, I am also aware of my Kings and Queen lineage prior. I am well aware my people aren’t and never was perfect in the ideals of fictitious human standards. I do believe if racism were to dwindle into timeless space, there will probably be crime among our people. As our self infliction is not entirely off the backs of whites pride and systematic oppression however it stems from our lack of connection to all that is and nature that surrounds us. That is a human problem, not just blacks.

Events after events, turmoil after turmoil, my people are just being relentlessly slaughtered. I tried feeling as if I am not a twenty three year young black man in 1960′s. I try to convince myself logically that we have came far. That I can cross country with no fear, go hiking in no fear, be educated without fear. While I try to obscure reality with positivism once, twice, maybe weekly, I am constantly cut by some news about the injustice my people suffer.

At first, I tried to cope by creating some distance between me and my people. I believed because I am not fully embedded in my Hip-hop culture I have a safe pass. That because I can act in the likeness of white appropriation easily I am safe from brutality. I don’t listen to rap music solely, I don’t sag my pants, not in a gang. I can speak proper and conduct myself respectfully. I listen to all types of music, can hold conversation about anything, New York City is not as racially oppressive. I thought these aspects would coat me like gravy. I felt this way after every brutality aired on the news  to block the fact that I am the “Villain,” the “thug,” that I am next…

……………..

It wasn’t until Sandra Bland. It wasn’t until I sat and watch a black women be killed before my eyes. It wasn’t until I understood how deep this issue goes. How inhumane these people are. Are they even humans? The editing of the dash cam, the mysterious death, the lies behind the mugshot. My people, My Sandra Bland did not come from a linage that raped the lands of the earth, that ethnic cleansed cultures, drop atomic bombs, serial kill innocent lives trying to reclaim their glory that was savagely taken from them 300 years ago. We did not destroy others history and brainwash them into ours. We did not ruthlessly kill for the fun of it promoting Christianity.  However, Sandra and the rest of my fallen people were treated as if we were the hands behind this.

To the someone that is reading this, I ask you why? Why are they doing this to my people, why are they doing this to me.  We historically did nothing, if in fact we gave white people everything. We gave them math, science, art, architecture, fashion , music. We gave them a foundation, civilization. I question as to why are whites so insecure within themselves that is so deeply ingrained within them they feel the need to pounce about the world and history books trying to fill a void.

Do they feel like they are weak? Were they jealous of other cultures advancements? Did they feel less then when they came our lands and saw Pyramids that exceeded their consciousness?
Do they feel as if there were not blessed enough, for they lived in caves while the rest of the world lived in riches, so they stole our religion and use it as a weapon against us?

They did once recognize how our melanin and curly hair gifted us in the ability to adapt in any weather condition and they cannot?
There has to be an internal reason they hate my color? There’s has to be reason they have to feel the need to pride around as if they are supreme unless they feel none of that already within.
Why are they passing this hate to their children that knew not of hate entering this world?

Understanding Sandra Bland made me realize were I came from. Understanding Sandra Bland made me know resilience.
Understanding Sandra Bland made me know they will lie their way into a justice system that is designed for them.
Understanding Sandra Bland made me understand my skin. She made me love my skin. Feel proud of my skin. My history. My riches.
Understanding her also made me understand I am next.

Sincerely, My People.

Namaste.