My pencil holds on to my paper tattooing it with chemical bonds. Hydrogen and carbon, both forming realistic relationships with each other. The dry erase markers, married to the dry erase board, never separated. I count stubborn significant figures with my tired pencil until the bell sings.
I am not black, but I'm aware of what you're going through. I am not black, but I see the injustice that you face. I am not black, but I see the fear for your sons and daughters. I am not black, but I will stand with you. Black lives matter. Due to systemic racism I repeat again, black lives matter. "I can't breathe." Those are some of the last few words that left George Floyd's mouth as his murderer engraved his knee into his neck that blocked his airway, letting no oxygen e
In the back of the house, shoes littered the floor and clothes mixed together in a laundered heap. A constant voice ringing out would tell the culprit to clean up and we’d look at each other, accusations ready to slip. We would go to separate corners routinely shoving things into small spaces, mumbling under our breath as we went. Until nightfall when we fell into our stacked beds that separated us, yet allowed peaceful sleep with an awareness of your presence. Day after day,