I. CAN'T. BREATHE.

Today, I am struggling to breathe. There is a heavy lump resting in my throat, and a wall pressing against my chest. Even in my attempts to take deep breaths, the lump does not move, and the wall continues to push. I am increasingly worried about my family, the Black men in my family especially, and the Black women too. I have an uncle, my favorite uncle, he’s quite sizable and extremely dark-skinned. I worry so much for him that it feels like grief. Almost like he’s already gone and I am just waiting for it to happen, because it feels inevitable. I have a father. He’s 6’4 with dark skin. He is likely the kindest, most caring man I know. He drives by himself all the time up and down streets, and highways, and sometimes sits in his car. He also walks alone in his neighborhood. He basically does all the things that police have recently murdered Black men for doing. Losing him, especially in such a dehumanizing way, would be irreparable.

My mom, my hero, sleeps soundly most nights. I believe this is because she is assured my dad will protect her. But even she, in her sleep, can be murdered by police because…because they can. Being bombarded with the stories, video clips, and images of Ahmaud Arbery, Breonna Taylor, and George Floyd has been extremely traumatizing resulting in a feeling of helplessness and intense pain. And this pain is unique as it is both familiar and new. It is familiar because these incidents bring forth memories of Eric Garner, Mike Brown, Sandra Bland, Aiyana Jones and others. It is new because it is recurrent, it is current, it is now. Regarding this situation, the grieving process has no end because with each new incident, it starts all over again.

America has sent the message to us, since our kidnapping from our motherland, that Black lives don’t matter. They did not matter during the Middle Passage, in which lives were lost during the journey due to inhumane conditions. They did not matter during the era of traditional slavery, in which our health, wholeness, families and bodies were not considered. They did not matter during the Jim Crow era, in which traditional lynchings were prevalent. They did not matter during the Civil Rights era, a time in which we were refused basic human rights, and continued to be lynched. They did not matter during the War on Drugs era, in which Black people were and continue to be incarcerated and involved in modern day slavery practices. And they do not matter now, as we watch video after video, and hear story after story, of modern day lynchings, murders of our Black sisters and brothers.

They were not mad that Colin Kaepernick knelt, nor did they care about the flag. They removed him and penalized others for kneeling, as a reminder of the message they have sent to us since our arrival. As we were screaming Black Lives Matter they were/and remain steady in telling us No, they don’t. I am exhausted. I am sad. I feel helpless.

So, I decided to write a letter to you:

Heyyyyy Black man. Yea, you, with your fine, strong and capable self.

I love you. I mean, like every single thing about you.

I love the way you speak all hard to convey you are serious.

You know, like when you put that bass in your voice?

Yea, I might roll my eyes, or suck my teeth, and give you my Black woman speech.

But in all honesty, I like that shit. Don’t overdo it tho.

I love the way a suit fits on your body, accentuating all your Adonis-ness.

Then you switch it up on me, and throw on a white T-shirt and gray sweatpants.

And your strength. Man, you have fortitude like no other.

The way you continue to walk out the door knowing there is a possibility you won’t make it back.

I hate the truth in that, but I love that you do it anyway.

You deserve the world. You deserve love. You. Matter. To. Me.

Heyyyyyy Black Woman! Yes, you girl! I am talking to you - with your fine, strong and capable self.

I love you. I adore you. I admire you.

You are absolutely everything.

You inspire me to be great, and permit me to be me.

The way you slay every single thing you touch, is just awe-inspiring.

I mean, really. How do you do it?

You show up to meetings on point, make sure everyone at home has everything they need, and on top of that no one in this world can make macaroni and cheese, collard greens, candied yams, and cornbread like you.

Furthermore, you look amazing while doing it.

I mean that hair, those heels, that honey dripping, heavily melanated, golden dripping, shea butter glossed skin. Gurrrrrl! You did that. You do that.

And,

The way you make your children and partner feel safe in an unsafe world.

The way your arms provide comfort and peace during disruption and danger.

The way you have carried all of us on your back without breaking yourself.

You deserve the world. You deserve love. You. Matter. To. Me.

Post in the comments something you love about Black men or Black women or both. During this time it is especially important to #mindyourmentalhealth. If you need resources, click on the resources tab. I love you.