A reminder about the Oppressor.
The oppressor always tries to kill you with it’s lies. The more they fear your victory, the more they seek to oppress. The tactics may not seem evident to others, but they’re clear to you. Some may think you’re being “paranoid”. But, you know history enough to see perception for the reality that it is.
The inaccurate narrative might be subtle to some and overwhelmingly obvious to others. All messages matter. You know the oppressors messengers use their tools well. The oppressor uses strategies — blatant and obscure. The oppressor has always used your own to sow confusion and conflict. You love the (s)kinfolk, even when you have to correct or ignore them.
You know your real (s)kinfolk will hold you up — always.
You know your fight is right, when the oppressor levies all the power it has to make your name the enemy. The wise know better than to listen to the oppressor. We all know that #BlackLivesMatter isn’t the adversary. The oppressor who dictates who matters is the enemy.
They may try to make us feel low, yet, even then, in spite of all that oppression,
Still I Rise!
You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may tread me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.
Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
‘Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.
Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I’ll rise.
Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.
Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don’t you take it awful hard
‘Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines
Diggin’ in my own back yard.
You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.
Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I’ve got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?
Out of the huts of history’s shame
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
By Maya Angelou
Like our ancestors did with song & quilts and smoke & whispers, believe, “we will be free”, and, pass it on.
Postage and Thailand