A Point of No Return

It’s been a while since I wrote, but it seems we’re at a point of no return.

           My heart burns when they pull the trigger and a bullet gets shot. My ears plunge with the scream of a family torn apart. My soul mourns all the black lives erased, all the sisters and brothers without papers, without a home; my body cringes with the pains we inflict on the elders when they’re stripped away from their liberties and agencies.

           My eyes swell with the blood we sprinkle on the soil that’s not ours. My beat raises to the pulse of those who are constantly denied of their worth. My existence drowns under the waters of oppression alongside other bodies who sinned on the wrong liabilities of their own realities, cultures, and dreams.

           To be black, to be Hispanic, to be Asian; to be First Nation or Indigenous, to be queer or differently-abled; to exist on the outskirts of society is to be taught to be on the wrong side of history. As once Louis Armstrong once said, No, you can’t take that from me.

           Revolutions happen from the people for the people; burn all the buildings and burn all the bridges, let them know you’re angry and that enough is about enough; set fire to the past and the present so the future can drink from the purifying magic of our tears. Let your bravery boil in human waters; your fear ignite the light that awaits at the other side of turmoil, and your hope to recoil every ounce of privilege, hate, and injustice that to this day calcinates our body of life.

           We go further if “us” means “all.”

           Think of your struggle and the intersection with others’; interact, conversate, and allow dialogues for thirds to relate.

           To connect the —once “flawed”— dots to unveil the true shape of the body of our suffering, to cure the blindness and let them see that the problems ain’t off; to create and explore a structural change and reform society, act up.