I've deigned to discuss myself in hopes of disrupting the degusting of the ease of our lives. I offer for yr digestion, at the struggle's steady suggestion, a new humanism which includes all the of the world's intersections. I detest all my discussions of "I:" who I am, what I am, what I need, what the fuck. My cousin Bryan, my late aunt Brenda's son, is my example of how Blackness exacerbates bad decisions. He had a homeboy who was selling drugs, nothing more said there, lest I contribute to myths around "thugs." Mans asked my cousin to hold a brick, and he must've offered him something, cus he agreed like an idiot. Probably all poised for a hundo when he got the kick, the truth that he had misplaced or somehow lost that shit. Unaware of the reason why her home was shot at, my aunt sold her safety when Bryan was born Black. A woman is always a potential victim of violence, and how fucked is it that this can now come from yr teenager's typical silence?