Was she happy? She thought – yes, reasonably so. Then again, what was happiness but the vast terrain between ecstasy and agony? Was this too small an ambition?
We all have scars. Just because mine are hidden doesn’t make them any less painful.
Was happiness (which was perhaps achieved not by getting what you wanted, but rather, by obtaining what you didn’t know you wished for until it was in hand) a hologram that would continually change appearance with the slightest shift of perspective? Or maybe happiness by definition was a temporary state of being recognizable only in hindsight. It was impossible to catch what always managed to be overrun and end up in the rear view mirror.
Nowadays, a simple faulty brake light traffic stop, can get a black person killed. It’s better to fix the broken light bulb, then having to face and cooperate with a senseless police officer.
We were all pawns easily discarded at the whims of monsters, some of whom were younger than me.
When I was a child, to call someone ‘black’ was an insult, a curse word, something that made you fight.
But to me it contains all of the history of oppression and resistance, of being close to the soil and the sky, of plain speaking. Of The Journey.
Nothing felt better to him than the act of waiting for her. As long as he believed it wasn’t in vain, he was able to justify his presence.
Is it possible for white America to really understand blacks’ distrust of the legal system, their fears of racial profiling and the police, without understanding how cheap a black life was for so long a time in our nation’s history?
The trip to Mars can only be understood through Black Americans. I say, the trip to Mars can only be understood through Black Americans.
Pastor McFucking Bride this . . . Pastor McFucking Bride that. Fuck him!