Still black, still mad.

 How do you write about this feeling? 

The violation played out across television screens and social media, in the constant heightened state I live in, we live in. 

You just can't describe this kind of tired. Some would label it as a victim mentality. I'd have to disagree. There's something about always being here. Never having a choice. My cards being dealt even before I was born. Founded on antiquated ideas of differences because of skin. 

I vacillate between extreme bouts of anger, depression, and survivors guilt. I want to light the world on fire, walk in every march, scream at every cop.... and roll up in a ball and cry. Me and mine having what happens to us played out in a political arena. It's such bullshit. This isn't right or left fodder. This is our lives. My fucking life. 

I hold onto the triumphs- how much we as a people have overcome, how times have changed, though it feels only incrementally. But it feels like there's something just beneath my skin. When will the other shoe drop? Sadly this is a learned reaction. Heaven forbid I can appreciate those moments. 

Am I writing this from a place of anger? Of course. Will it pass...

I dream of being less mad, but not less black.