Aware of Blackness, Constricted by Words

I am in a season where I am aware of blackness

Brown skinned flesh unpacking in glaring white institution

Bound

By thoughts

By words

By thinking of words to the degree that I am constricted

Tongue tied, hands restricted by overwhelming streams of consciousness

I'd *almost* rather be sleeping because dreams block out death

block carnage

block bullshit, toxic politic

and wondering if my black life is seen as less than that of beasts or the unborn

I am awake and breathing

mouth wide open

I taste the salt of my tears

I am grieving

For those whose breath was stolen by bullet

or the thick, braided noose of supremacy and privilege

Those who looked like me

Who looked like those I love

Whose blackness reflects own

Their deaths are birthing something new in me