in a NOLA state of mind

It's already starting. Started the other day if I'm being honest with myself, because I looked at a calendar and saw how close the date was.

The tugging at my heart. The sadness. The grief. The mourning over what was and is no longer, and also what we can't seem to fix. Combined with what is going on in Staten Island, Ohio, and Ferguson, the memories of what went on in the N.O. during Katrina are swirling in my head, making me heavy.

Being made to being SHOWN, repeatedly, that my skin color makes me and my people less worthy of life in this country? It has me feeling some kind of way. And again, if I'm being honest? It's really hard to get from under this feeling. I have cried so many tears just because...

Just because people hate my kinfolk and skinfolk. Just because people think it's ok to kill us, it's ok to let us die. By unwarranted bullets. By unorganized evacuation. By complacency and apathy. By othering. By inaction and ignorance. By fabricated wars on drugs. By false narratives. By being portrayed and perceived as a threat. By inferior education. By hunger. By laws not meant to protect us, but to protect our killers. By a system people refuse to acknowledge, let alone help dismantle. By hook and crook, we are killed daily, hourly, and still--STILL told to play the game...or else.

This has got to stop. Because even though we are resilient, even though we bounce back, keep it moving, and some of us actually succeed and achieve...even though we cover the pain, continue to strive and press on toward the mark...even though we take what we can get, work twice as hard to get half as far, and even though we continue to fight the good fight, the scars of these battles? They don't go away. Ever.

Sweet and Docile, Meek, Humble and Kind:
Beware the day they change their mind."
Langston Hughes