It’s always been about you. Like it’s your time. Like it’s your world and I’ve just been living in it. My thick kinky-coily natural hair. The beautiful dark pigmentation of my melanin. The raising of my fist in the air with pride and dignity. Researching and learning about how my ancestors were kings and queens and not just the slaves textbooks only teach you about. My knowledge that there is more to me and my culture than what society tells me. My confidence as a young black woman. Why is that a problem for you? Why is the embracing of my culture a problem for you? Why is my feminism and refusal to conform to societal standards a problem for you? Throwing the “angry black girl” narrative at me anytime I speak up for myself or am outspoken with my ideals and belief? And it even leads me to wonder why it is a problem for me to say what I am saying right now as the creases of your eyebrows and forehead tense up in a confused manner? As you look at me as if I have five heads or as if I am a strange alien from afar speaking words of nonsense. You’re offended?!! So it’s a problem to say BLACK LIVES MATTER OR EVEN SCREAM IT TO THE TOP OF MY LUNGS IN A WORLD THAT IS CONSTANTLY TELLING ME “IT DOESN’T MATTER.” But I’ll be calm, I won’t start a scene, I won’t speak up on issues that have constantly been brushed under the rug, I won’t dare to make a change and stop systemic oppression and injustices. I mean I could really just let The Victim Blaming. The White-Washing of Our Culture. And The Injustice speak for itself. I guess there’s nothing really that I can say to get you to understand. There’s nothing that I can really say or do at this point to get you realize that the world isn’t about you, Becky.

But you know what?….It’s my time. It’s OUR time. So who’s really the problem here?