What do you do when the world expects you to be strong?Nina said “my skin is black, my arms are long, my hair is wooly, and my back is strong. Strong enough to take the pain inflicted again and again”

So I have to ask myself what do I do with all this anger? What club do I have to join to feel I’m equal? 

So white woman, while we march together protesting in our solidarity interweaving reproduction and femininity. Where were you? 

Where were you when I asked for my equality?

Equality doesn’t come to those who ask for it quietly and Malcom asked who “taught you to hate yourself?”

but my protest like my country isn’t a melting pot. My protest is a riot, a group thugs, a group of takers not makers, and lastly just a group of people with nothing better to do. Other than a fabrication of our unjustified frustration with Americas incarceration and delayed mass participation.

Where were you when I dared to say that I mattered. I, not your token friend, your neighbor, or the one who creates and inspires every bit of culture to which the vultures seem to always devour. Me, the one with the funny hair, name, and who you can’t seem to understand. Let me help; Voting rights repealed, stop and frisk insidious intents revealed, driving while black is real, now do you get – “what’s my deal”

Trans sisters erased and forgotten before you could even bother to speak but ask me again to join you in the streets… repeat after me; WHERE, WERE, YOU?

Maybe ribbons and banners and witty posters can help me to understand the silence in your stance.