The first time I posted the words, black lives matter, I remember I was typing it for an Instagram post and I thought, oh god. I hesitated, my stomach clenched. What was I about to unleash but also what does this mean?

It meant after years of believing that I was the same as everyone else that I was alotted every opportunity had finally fallen away. There was no more illusion. Now was when I either kept pretending or acknowledged it and kept fighting, only this time with my eyes open. It meant isolating myself, cutting off friends and family, it meant receiving another label. Angry black woman. 

For too long I had lived my life as amicably as  possible. In certain spaces I had the, "everyone deserves a voice attitude," life is what you make it afterall. Unless you look like me, someone who is so discriminated agaisnt they had to come up with the the words  intersectional feminist. That means that as a woman I deserve equal rights but as a black women raised in a religion few have heard of, who is pansexual, suffers from depression and anxiety, and a mother I deserve equal rights. So when I broadcast to the world that black lives matter I took back my power. I'm not saying my life matters anymore than anyone else. I'm saying that up until now a lot people thought my life, didn't matter at all.

When I tweeted black lives matter I said to the world but mostly myself that the struggle exists that it has been fought with wips, chains, shackles, words, and lives. My ancestors bled for this, my ancestors fought for this, my ancestors scream for their graves for this.  

When I say black lives matter I mean no disrespect but saying please and thank you doesn't seem to get very far. Patience has proven futile. Asking has shown to backfire. So maybe declaring will force their hand.