I can't stop thinking about the past two weeks, and just about today and about every person who's been named, and the countless others who have been murdered that we don't know about.

I just can't, so I'm gonna get it out.

I am a rather privileged person: I was raised to speak in a certain way, have multiple degrees including a master's, and can speak another language that I learned, at first, just because. I've never known hunger: I've always had treats.

I can fit /really well/ into white spaces: I code switch with ease, can talk the academic talk, and because I'm naturally quite quiet, I can easily disappear in a room.

But that's not enough, is it?

My degrees aren't on my skin: someone who means harm to mean won't see the good I try to do in my eyes. Someone who could end my life won't stop to think about my history.

Someone could hurt me. Someone could steal away my time.

And the thing is, none of that pomp and privilege of mine even matters: I could have /none/ of that and I'd still have a life worth living.

My existence would still matter.

I'd still be important.

I'd still have worth.

One of my biggest fears is that my loved ones will get that call: that I'm gone, that I've been taken from the world, that my life has been ended due to racial violence. L

That my blackness was exactly what someone needed to disregard my right to exist.

I hope that my mother, my family members, my friends, my precious partner never, ever receive that call. I hope that they never have to grieve me in such a horrific way.

I hope that no one ever has to move through all this ever again.

But as optimistic as I am, I'm also not ignorant: this has been happening since 1619. This is part of bigger injustice that has had earth-shattering ramifications.

Yet even knowing all that, my heart aches.

When I was in college, I used to think I was safe: I didn't fear the police at all.

2012 hadn't happened yet: I was just a fat Black history major in a small college you're.

I was soft spoken, well-spoken: I was going to be okay.

That would protect me... Right?

Then I moved 15 minutes from Ferguson a few days after the murder of a child named Michael Brown (and he was a child: 18 is just a child who can smoke and join the military) and the divide I'd always perilously straddled seemed to open up to devour me.

It's not that I wasn't aware: I'd been called a n*gg*r before. I'd been called a fat Black b*tch before. I'd endured being likened to a primate, sounds and all. I'd been told I was too dark.

But I really thought I'd be okay.

I thought I'd always be safe.

I'll never forget the day I was driving home from my work-study on I-70 in 2014. I turned to take the ramp and near slammed into traffic.

There was a protest up ahead.

I was still in my first semester: tensions were high. At that time, I was so alone, and I was so scared.

I'll always remember my blood going cold, my heart racing. I was scared.

I'll always remember whispering: "Please don't let me see someone get murdered. Please don't let me see someone fall from the bridge."

I was five minutes from home: I wanted to scream.

I sat in traffic for an uncountable amount of minutes, and then suddenly, I was in my apartment, snapped back into my body.

I had homework to do, dinner to eat, a shower to take. I think I called my mom. I probably cried.

But I was so gloriously /alive/.

I said it earlier: I love being Black. I love my entire existence. I love my skin, my history, my heritage, and my hair.

And I'm not not going to stop loving myself: I can't let hate stop me. If I do, I'll never do another thing in my life ever again.

But it's hard when things like this happen: it's just hard.

I don't have anything profound to say here: it's just hard and it really, really hurts.

And like... That's the tea sis: it hurts.

I'm thankful that I have a support system that stands for justice. I'm thankful for everyone I've met in here who refuses to look away from injustice, whether or not it's on their backyard.

I'm thankful for my partner who stands with me, who lifts me up. Who loves me and my Blackness. Who has made me feel so black and beautiful that I don't have words sometimes.

I'm thankful for my black family who has never made my dark skin feel bad. I'm thankful for being and to grow up in a black church, for bag able to have Black mentors.

I'm thankful I can pay all that forward.

I'm going to continue on.

I'm going to continue to shine.

I might get scared sometimes, and I'll most definitely cry again this weekend, but I'm not going to stop.

I'm Black and I'm proud.

Someone needs to see me continuing on: someone needs to see that Black is beautiful and magic and worthwhile, especially when there so much pain.

I don't know who will see me: but I want whoever it is to know they're seen.

And someone needs to see you whether you're Black or an ally.. Someone today needs to know that we're all fighting for justice, that we're all trying to unite and create a world that is caring and fair.

(And in so many ways, we are: actively, day by day.)

I'm not really sure how to end this thread: all I can say is that things will change. I don't know when, but I have to hope: I refuse to live in a world where hope doesn't have a seat at the table.

I suppose all I can say is thank you for reading till the end.

I know this isn't everyone's cup of tea, but tough toenails: I'm tired of being quiet.

I'm Black, I'm angry, I'm sad, but I'm not giving up.

And that's what it is y'all.