Webcomic

It's hard to NOT feel the feelings that I feel. 

Betrayal. Disappointment. Anger. 

But there is one feeling that has surprised me. Heartbrokenness. My heart is seriously broken over America's inability to love me back. It doesn't matter that I was born here. It doesn't matter that centuries of my ancestors' blood is in this soil. It doesn't matter if I follow the rules. It doesn't matter if I tell the truth. It doesn't matter if I pay my taxes, get an education, say the Pledge of Allegiance. Collectively, this country will hate my black body no matter what I do. No matter what is true.

So now what? Do I plead for this love to be reciprocated? Do I debate every countrymen? Do I sacrifice myself in protest? What am I to do? 

It is impossible for me to hate myself the way they hate me. I know myself well. I have learned to be patient with myself. I have learned not to believe their white lies. I have learned not to believe their black lies either. Maybe that's the real reason they hate me. My black body is just a lazy pretext. They will accuse it of being things it is not. They will accuse it of breaking laws it has not broken. They will accuse my body of many things that are not true. 

I know better because I know myself. I know myself. I know myself.

I have seen my brown eyes and skin. I know my eyes are piercing and my skin is soft to the touch. You can rest your head on my chest and know safety. You can tell me secrets and know security. I mean what I say and say only what I mean. 

I do all these loving things in my black body. A body that ages like them all. A body that is sinless. A body that is free. A body that is free. A body that is free.

A body that is free.