I want to know that black men will show up for us like we are showing up for them. This is for the ones that call us ugly, the ones who hate our natural hair, the ones who won't date us unless we straighten it. This is for the ones who beat us, the ones we march for, die for, the ones we do anything for. Black men you're dying. Bloody bodies laying in the street. And White america would like to have everyone believe that it was all through some fault of yours. But black women know better. As we March for you I remember how few of you marched for Sandra Bland. The Rekia Boyd's dont seem quiet as worthy to fight for it seems, my brothas. You watched little black girls get slammed around classrooms, have their jaws broken, & get swung on & sat on while at a pool by police triple their size & I dont see you fighting. I didnt hear you talk about it. Black pregnant women thrown to the ground by officers ON THEIR BELLIES & I didnt hear you make a sound. I hear only the sounds of black women screamin, an echo that's been heard for 400 years.
Black men who exactly am I fighting for? Who am I risking my life for? I got arrested fighting for one you know. Eric Garner, I cried for him. I stayed up nights thinking about his family & how deep this systematic shit is but you slept soundly when 12 black women were raped by one officer yet no one wanted to call it a hate crime.
Black Men How do you look at me yesterday, on a subway Babywearing my nanny kid & pushing a heavy stroller with 2 small children in it & not offer me a seat? How do you look me in the eye & stay seated as you see sweat pouring from my face? How do you push past me on the subway stairs carrying that stroller? How do you cat call at me while I have three small children with me? My god Black men, my black brothas I don't see you. You don't show up, you take. You expect us to fight for your will to breath but don't often see you give a flying fuck about ours. Dead or alive black men you ain't here.
Most of the abuse I have suffered in my life are at the hands of BLACK MEN. When I walk past older black men on the street I freeze. Yet i fight for your life DAILY, tirelessly, relentlessly. I do it when I dont even have support. I do it when my own self care is lacking. When I haven't slept, here I am screaming you name, adding to the black female screaming echo. My how this feels like home. Feelin like the black women's work we been doin for centuries. Black men do better. I expect better. You are being exterminated. Plucked off, Strange Fruit. And we are all you have left yet you don't show up. I don't see you. Dead or alive my black men I don't see you. Show up. Show up for yourselves, for us, for the movement, for the end of our extinction. If you still have air in your lungs, show up.