It’s wild to think when you get to the absolute edge of the world, all that’s left is utter nothingness… no reprieve from the storm, no safe haven, no oasis. You endured hell and then you end.

That’s what my week/month/summer/quarantine has felt like. My reward is more hell.

I’m really stuck on that I Am Legend analogy from Friday. Every last one of them is either a monster or Sam the dog after getting bit… who the fuck is left (from that world)?

I wish I could say it’s just a bruised pride, but it’s an existential panic attack.

And it’s this stupid fucking nagging NEEEEED to hold people accountable for their harm in the face of knowing they don’t give a fuck about actual black folk.

Knowing people you cared about don’t even care about harming you, let alone you yourself, is fucking… a PILL to swallow.

And putting your harm on display for all to ignore, or at most, an “I see you,” (a dozen white folks have texted me that this week; where did y’all learn this?) like…

Nigga, I don’t need to be seen; I need to be defended. Stop telling me I’m right, and go advocate on my behalf.

Still haven’t forgiven myself for that “I ring the bell” thread. By November, I’ll be saying I can’t forgive myself for THIS thread. I feel like those “putting on clown makeup” memes every time I assume white folks actually understand a word I’m saying.

I’m a weapon, I’m a charity case, I’m a monster, I’m a prophet, I’m a pity party, I’m a bridge burner, I’m an alternative, I’m an elective. I am a pariah.

Never once am I an actual human being deserving of dignity or safety.

And I’ll blame myself for it… I worked so hard to be nothing more than some typed words on your phone $ an occasional pic of food or dogs, and then I expected you to care about my actual personhood.

I’m no more a human than your google search bar. I’m a widget at your disposal.

Black Pinocchio doesn’t become a real boy until the cops or a lone wolf or this country itself turn him into a hashtag first.