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Burn the Cape: Why Your "Independence" is Actually Your Prison

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Burn the Cape: Why Your "Independence" is Actually Your Prison Let’s be real: most of us are exhausted because we’re playing a game that wasn’t designed for us to win. We’ve been fed a steady diet of "rugged individualism," convinced that if we just grind harder, sweat longer, and suffer in silence, we’ll finally arrive. We wear the "Strong Black Woman" cape or the "Unbreakable Black Man" armor like it’s a badge of honor, but it’s actually a lead weight. When you carry the world on your solitary shoulders, you aren’t being a hero; you’re being a martyr for a system that doesn’t love you. This isolation breeds the "Mad, Sad, and Scared" cycle. You’re mad because you’re tired, sad because you’re lonely, and scared because you know if you trip, there’s no one behind you. Ujima —Collective Work—is the antidote. It’s not just a nice idea; it’s a survival strategy. It’s about making your brother’s problems your own so they don't become a ...
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Final GoodBye III- Writing for Healing

His Story is Mine

His story is mines,
Better yet my story is his,
For now I can no longer deal with what was,
Now I have to deal with what is.
A great tree has fallen in the forest of life,
A tree that provided shade for many and a shelter from strife.
But this is not the end of his tory for his story is mine,
And his story will live through his bloodline for all time.
His story is not over because his story is mine, and I need for his loved ones to read between the lines.
Although his body is gone his spirit is strong, that explains why through the pain and confusion he lived so long.
Fear not because his story is not over because his story is mine,
He has made it to peace and he rest with the divine
We are the seeds and saplings grafted from his tree and now he can rest in comfort for his story can be told by we.
His story is not over, because his story belongs to me
For I am a proud branch on his family tree, I will always remember those that came before, those that struggled like no people before.
Like Miles Brown and the lady known as Ms. Ann their stories will live because it was passed to my hands
Like Herman Brown and Rosa lee
Like Geneva and Herman brown the second, and Cleven Brown now can peacefully join their essence
Although his body has now been returned to the earth
His story and their story has been cemented  in  time by Cleven Miles Brown's birth.
His story his mine, his story is ours, his story is ours.
Now tell it.......

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