Real Talk: An Apology

I’m sorry that my oppression makes you uncomfortable. That the blood of my people paint your meticulous streets and the cries for our humanity pierce your daily melody.

I’m sorry that I can’t disappear, that I refuse to be neglected, forsaken, cast away like tares from wheat as you continue to live as if we didn’t meet.

I’m sorry that we are reaped like the cotton my people picked, that we remain slaves to your success, that no matter how free we think we are, we are still shackled to past.

I’m sorry that you feel the need to pillage my culture just you pillaged my village, and that just like before you are making money off of something that you claim belongs to you.

I’m sorry if the sounds of my dragging chains kept you from enjoying the symphony of privilege, if the images of my broken body interrupted your regularly scheduled program as the media criminalizes, demonizes, demeans me.

I’m sorry if I can’t fill the holes that have been shot into my body by the people who swore an oath to protect my body.

I’m sorry that as I bleed red, you cry for the blue, who killed because of black.

I’m sorry that you believe that a chosen occupation is greater than an assigned repression.

I’m sorry that you think I chose this life, that you think I wanted to live in fear of my life and my children’s lives, that I want to live like a second grade citizen in a place my people died to make a first world country.

I’m sorry that you claim to speak of justice, but for a long time it has been just us, fighting for our lives, praying that one day you would wake up to see the carnage left in your wake.

I’m sorry if my march for freedom of life intrudes on your way as you continue to live your life unafraid that because of the color of your skin you may or may not live to see the next day.

I’m sorry that you think that my life is worth less than your way of life, that the thought of us shaking the gloom inequality sends shivers of fear down your spine.

I’m sorry that for every step it seems we take in the right direction, you feel compelled to mention every misdeed, mishap, mistake made by small group of my people, yet refuse to acknowledge that we were first mishandled by your people.

I’m sorry that conversations of importance frighten you, that the foundations of your privilege begin to crumble as I stand up with my brothers and sisters and demand to be seen, demand to be heard, and demand to matter.

I’m sorry if you are afraid that our equality will somehow lead to your demise, that you think that as long as you fill your quota of black people who have done things in America, everything will be fine.

I’m sorry that whenever you pass a table full of color, your mind begins to wonder, but while you’re thinking of what we could possibly be scheming, please don’t forget to remember that we banded together because we only have each other, that you first exiled us from the land of milk and honey.

I’m sorry if my plea to be seen humanly comes across in-eloquently, but note this, I don’t want or need your pity.

xo

Chid

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