Anger Without a Home

Breonna Taylor will not receive justice.

Where do Black people go to express our anger?

Who do we talk to?

Do we talk to one another, as angry as the other?

Do we find a Black therapist in a sea of white therapists who do not understand us, do not know us, and who vote to lock us up and over-police us?

Do we talk to our teacher, who suspends us, ignores us, labels us, and under appreciates us?

Do we go to church to pray to a god who doesn’t look like us, and who allowed our oppressors to enslave us?

Do we go to our neighbors who look like us and who search for relief like us?

Do we go to our coworkers who disregard us, make more money than us, go home to their all-white neighborhood and laugh or forget about us?

Where is our heaven and our place of peace and rest?

Where do we go to exhale, relax, and smile?

Is our place in the Motherland who no longer recognizes us?

Is our place South where we know the hatred?

Is it in the Northeast where the hatred comes with a smile?

Is it in the Northwest where the hatred is young and energized?

Or is it in the West where hatred of us was coded online?

Where do we raise our kids, care for our elders, and look out for one another?

Where can we scream, lash out, cry and shout without repercussions, shame, or bullets?

Where is our peaceful place of love of quiet?

Where are our parks, our playgrounds, our grass, and our beaches?

Where do we smile quietly in love and in joy? To hold hands in comfort and calm?

Where can we find ourselves after mistakes and learning?

Where are our girls safe and our boys free? And both are as loud as they want to be?

America is where we live, but it has never been our home.

Our place will find us and we will find it, in this life or the next.

And when we do, we’ll shout, scream, laugh, run, yell, cry, and let loose our burdens.

And we will see each other for the first time. See our love, our skin, our beauty, and hearts.

Without stress

Fear

Loss

or

Anger

We will leave the American illness behind.

And all that will be left, will be our love, our joy, our magic, our uniqueness.

We will be us and we will be free.

© 2020 by Myron J. Clifton. All Rights Reserved.

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