Friday, November 11, 2016


Black Lives Matter. 

These three simple words together invokes such disdain in the hearts of many, which completely baffles me. Why does me stating that my life and the lives of my black friends, family, and others bother you so much? Why do you instantly tell me that all lives matter, as if I'm not aware? When people who look like me are senselessly murdered by those who are paid to protect and serve, simply because of skin color, am I supposed to be quiet? Am I not allowed to be angry and inform you that MY life matters? We are literally viewing police murders caught on camera like they are the newest reality television show, while becoming desensitized to the issue.

Growing up in a very suburban (and very white) city about 30 minutes outside of Los Angeles, I did not witness the constant police harassment of black men. My father was diligent in teaching my siblings and I about life outside the bubble he and my mother had created for us. I will never forget seeing how Rodney King was beaten and being shocked that my father was NOT shocked. That feeling of helplessness, anger, and despair remains each time another murder is filmed.

I will continue to speak my voice. I will proudly inform you that the life of my brother, uncles, nephews, and friends DOES matter. I will stand proud in my beautifully created brown skin and continue to show you that my life matters. I will continue to exude #BlackGirlMagic and show my tiny slice of this world that my melanin is not a mistake.

Stay strong, my brothers and sisters...we got this.


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