The assorted news headlines about Armaud Arbery and countless other Black men being murdered in cold blood is a tacit reminder of this Otherness affixed to us.
A label, a box that I refuse to inhabit, it is a trap, as the box has no air.
Brainstorming in Blue Ink.
I am one of the legions – a Black man.
I am often what my Father told me who I needed to be to survive…
My Father and I.
“Be a cruel contradiction – make them eat their words Youngblood.”
We can defy the stereotypes, but often it manners none, especially when we need it most.
I… and the legions of Black men – we live, under a fog of omnipresent alert.
We wield a Shield to protect ourselves from the arrows of a world that seems to revile our presence.
We navigate our respective minefields at the speed of life – hoping not to be the next headline.
Simply having the audacity to exist or in some instances, persevere; can be perceived as a threat to the order of things.
Truth be told…
We can’t afford the luxury of being hurt, because if we stop to acknowledge the pain – we will be overtaken.