I’m Tired

This morning I found out someone I considered family, my oldest Sons Cousin. His Fathers first Cousin, was murdered by the hands of a Black Man.

I’m tired.

Every time a Black Woman is murdered by a Black Man my soul withers in agony. I ball. I’m back 6 years ago experiencing a loss that’ll never completely heal from. And I’m back writing my therapist letting her know I need to be seen.

It’s a trigger. And I’m not alone.

I don’t care about Rich People’s problems.

End of the day Tori Lanez was wrong. End of discussion. No point of going back and forth about it.

I won’t.

What I’m speaking on is the cycle of Black women being murdered by our men.

Being Beat on.

I can’t think of one time in my life where I haven’t seen domestic violence in or around my home.

Can you?

Yeah, I know it happens in every race. But I’m talking about my folks.

We say we need to protect our women….

But even PAC said, “I wonder why we take from our women? Why we rape our women? Do we hate our women?”

Malcolm X was wrong too I suppose?

It’s hard being black in America.

Black America screams out to be heard and we always fall on deaf ears. It’s proven time and time again with each indictment being tossed at our Men. Shackles. I don’t want to see my boys in shackles.

We find ourselves in comment sections going up against bigots voicing our struggles. Screaming out to be heard and we never are.

It’s hard being a black man in America with the weight of the world on your shoulders. I can’t even begin to imagine what you go through.

I just try to do my part to raise my sons up to feel and be present in the moment. Feel through it all. Stand up tall. Stand up for themselves. Be a leader. Never follow. Be respectful. Be appreciative. Work hard to play hard.

I put a heavy emphasis on feeling. It’s crucial that they learn to feel and understand what it is they are feeling.

So many of our men are hardened. With due reason. I can’t begin to walk a mile in y’all shoes and I don’t even try. When men talk to me or come to get a reading from me I listen and try to understand without having a rebuttal.

Sometimes people just want someone to listen without a solution. Listen without a disagreement. Listen without wanting to go up against something being said.

We all struggle with listening. I know that I do.

And I say that to say Men, Black Women have an experience that you are failing to listen to. You are failing to hear our cries just as much as we are failing to hear yours.

And all I’m asking is for us all to listen.

We want others to listen to us as a whole but we can’t even listen to each other without getting down right nasty when we don’t agree with what’s being said.

Like I can’t tell a black man about his experience, sir, you can’t tell me about mine either. Because in some aspects they are one in the same but in other instances honey, it’s a different walk in the same field. And I just want you to hear me.

Be present with me in my moment of vulnerability and listen to understand not to fix. NOT YET. Can’t fix what you are failing to hear.

I don’t even care who goes first anymore. Brotha if you got to vent go ahead and vent. I won’t say a word. But when you’re finished I need you to hear me out.

We all suffer from some deep forms of trauma from childhood and we carry them into our adult lives. And we mask it. We mask it but it seeps through.

We all need to heal.

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