Living is a deadly endeavor. Consider this, in 2013, a black woman, child or man was extrajudicially murdered every 28 hours. That is to say, they were killed without trial, without charge and without a documentable “reason” by officers, security guards and other “scared” people.
“My silence did not protect me. Your silence will not protect you. But for every real word spoken, for every attempt I have ever made to speak those truths for which I am still speaking, I had made contact with other women, while we examined the words to fit a world in which we all believed bridging our difference.” Audre Lorde, Cancer Journals
Silence is just that silencing. It does not clot the bleeding. It cannot soothe the wound. It has never disinfected the causes of systemic oppressions. Silence only makes the silenced stand still, erect and invisibled while the powered speak freely, guilt free and drunk on their own existences.
I write because there are things I cannot yet say, nor can I fully imagine, because I’ve yet to meet my self for who he really is. My tongue and body have been trained on how/when/where to be and behave and for whom, by violent lessons of comportment and threats/guarantees/memories of scars and markings deeper than the Jordan River.
I write because the prospect of my humanity–the ability of my blackness, queerness, maleness, positivity…blaqueerpozitivity…to exist, to coexist, lovingly (loving me), scares the fuck out of me. Because if it’s dreamable it’s speakable, and if it is speakable, it is have able and if I do not yet have it…I must ponder who has taken this birthright from me? And if I speak the answer…my fear and my rage..my consume the whole of this world. So I write and pretend my voice is tired..despite being the weapon of mass-instruction it is
I write, because I seek to live and yet survive, to love wholly, fully, visibly…to be both secure and intimate. But when the time undoubtedly comes for me to meet the consequences of my dare to defy..I want my words, my life, my humanity to live on and provide proof that there is liberation in the fucking of the system and the thwarting of dehumanization. I write because I must live, because to die quickly, silently, is to protect and ingrain system built upon the assumption and perpetuation of black genocide.