My grandmother once told me that life’s a whole lot more easy when you learn to bend with it; when you accept the restrictive nature of things that can’t be moved. She said, “You’ll rest better if you don’t let life worry you.” I wish I could tell her that I don’t lose sleep and at the end of each day, I turn my heart towards the moon and lie in the stillness of its sanctuary, but my innocent soul was tainted by race long before I knew prejudice. I’ve been restless ever since. Eager to treat the hearts of anyone sick enough to reject all of who I am, solely because of the color of my skin.

What hurts most, is knowing that despite their inhumane acts our mothers never taught us to hate. Not once did they point the blame or partake in their detest. Instead, they painted pictures of how the world would look once we all accepted our rightful places in it. They stressed the importance of love, and how we would overcome by denying our hearts the quenching pleasure of revenge, because we are better off thirsty. Our mothers raised us to value the life in everything breathing, because breath is a symbol of the Lords intent and interfering with His work can only lead to chaos, I guess that is why so many of our people have died in vain. Blue lives, wolves in sheep clothing, mocking God and obsessing over his work, plagued with egos audacious enough to stand boldly in their contempt.

I never understood how someone could despise a man so much, that they’d give up their own life to ensure the oppression of another. Last night I prayed and asked my grandmother to remind me how to rest, to show me how to keep my peace from surrendering to sorrow and defeat, I am tired of waking up to headlines reading, a black man was lynched today. I haven’t even started a family.

I dream of having sons one day, but the fear that my womb holds in their place is all too real to be imagined. I dread the injustice they’ll have to endure just to survive. Before I kiss my fiancé I pause and inhale, when our lips meet I impart my breath into his lungs just in case there ever comes a time when he is forced into believing that he is not strong enough to breathe on his own.. my oxygen will be the wind that reinforces his backbone, he will stand tall when they try to condemn him into surrender, because rest never comes by bending and our surrender was never meant to be given to man, but only as a sacrament to God.

Grandma’s Song