The contents of this passage may be triggering so please read at your own risk.

The contents of this passage have real generational pain.

The contents of this passage come from my heart.

How do you quantify the pain of an entire 400 years’ worth of generations? How do you quantify the pain of being tied to a stake in the middle of a field and being whipped whilst your son, who was dragged from your wife’s breast, must watch you bleed from the gashes in your back? How do you quantify the pain of being forced to have sex with a stranger to producing a child that you knew would meet the same fate?

This was the excruciating reality for members of the Afrikan ancestral tree. Working for 16+ hours a day except for the Sabbath. On this day, slaves were forced to attend church and listen to sermons from a priest. The priest however, would not teach them about God, but more about how they should obey their masters and not steal from or lie to them because God said so. For 400 years, this was taught and pushed into the minds of slaves across AmeriKKKa. Of course, many yearned for religious sovereignty so they congregated in secluded areas outside of patrols so they could worship their gods. However, many of them were flogged, hung, and murdered. Eventually, polytheism was forced out of their daily practice, further separating them from the connection to their Afrikan cultures as time progressed. Years of this madness continued. Then a major turning point gave hope.

A major triumph in human rights history took place in the year 1865. Even still, 156 years, 1 month, 26 days, 18 hours, and 18 minutes since the ratification of the 13th amendment and we still hear the hum of this pain. Through literal blood, sweat, and tears we have been able to grasp the edge of the endless abyss. The AmeriKKKan ideology still stands at the edge grinding our fingers under its shoes. Teasing us, probing us with blatant disrespect, killing our brothers and sisters, aiming for our pain to be transmuted to hatred so they can watch us plummet to the bottomless depths of despair, blind rage, and insanity.

But we STILL HOLD ON.

We clutch this edge with fervor and faith as our knuckles bleed under the pressure and our abdomens shake. Something keeps us from letting go. Somewhere deep inside, we know that our ancestors witness our struggle, cry, and work in our favor. Internally we know that we will overcome this once seemingly insurmountable feat — for below us is the support of our ancestors stretching into the void. They have planted their feet in the aether with ultimate focus. Flooding our spirit bodies with electrifying energy, healing, understanding, and growth. With this energy, we nurture, educate, unlearn, and reprogram. We create beautiful works of art that warm hearts.

We commit to the love in the fact that we are Black and wear this skin with energetic gashes on our backs. We rise with this energy and find the Black Power in our wounds because soon, the tides of eternity will birth the Black Flower to bring our enemies to their doom. Until then we create, congregate and concentrate on the goal. Never wavering, unrelenting, not even leaving a card for them to fold.

Upon us, a gift and a curse were bestowed. To truly know pain.

I still don't know how to fully vocalize this pain that I feel. I’m but one man that feels so deeply connected to millions, and for that I am grateful. We are monarchs, champions, and scholars that shine with brilliance. Even when we feel like we’re only civilians.

Cry.

Fight.

Keep Holding On.