Loving and living this life in Seattle
writing is my therapy. over these last few months, with mounting racial tensions, outright displays of hatred, and low-key disbelief that my america has too many throwback moments to yesteryear, i find myself writing daily. multiple times a day. i have to get it out. because if i keep all this pain, anger, and rage …
some people cry. some people march. some people throw things. some people scream. some people set things ablaze. some people tear things up. some people hold signs. some people sing. some people paint. some people write. let all the people refuse to be silent. “I contend that the cry of “black power” is, at bottom, …
after ferguson erupted onto the national stage, i was appalled, although not the least bit surprised, by the rhetoric that quickly switched from shock to rage to blame to utter disrespect for black life. it hurt. it still hurts. honestly, it always hurts. i know all to well how a continued narrative on inhumanity shapes …