all the names

I feel like all I’ve been doing today is talking.  All I did last night was cry.  I want to write something more, but I’m tired.

It’s always someone’s Daddy.  It’s always someone’s child.  And it is the children who kill me most on days like today when the world seems unbearably cold.

Back in the day, we relied on media outlets to check and balance.  We believed that our police officers wore white hats and had our backs.  We were mobilized by TV coverage and MLK’s dream.

Nowadays, we have hashtags and speeches given by @iJesseWilliams.  And everyone is a journalist as soon as they turn on their phones.  We watch.  Witness.  Say nothing. Do nothing.  Watch again.  And again.  Too much.  Always.  Never ever ever enough for those children left crying over fathers they’ll never ever know. Enough.

I’ve been talking all day.  On these platforms that mean so little, it seems.  Mostly to myself.  Though some like and cry with me.  But mostly, it means nothing.  Because we are all deaf and blind.  Muted by all the noise.

So, I’ll leave you with the words I’ve shared on these forums.  In hopes, one day, they’ll matter–instead of being some horrible eyesore our children inherit about how the world started ending.

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