I hold my nephew and I fear for what his life will be like in this world where black children are simply dolls, that if one is shredded in the washing machine, or it’s heart stops beating or it stops saying mommy or it refuses to lay still in your arms it is okay to burry him under judicial filth and say it is his fault for having drank iced tea or chewed skittles, and you do not have the guilty hand that pressed candy into his mouth or shot him dead with the gun your father purchased you for Christmas, and all you have to do is simply go back out onto the streets and pick out a new black doll to shoot. I watch my nephew sleep at four years old only moments in his life where he is able to dream and I fear the day he finds out that, to you, he is only a black doll, and it doesn’t matter whether he lives or dies, all that matters is that there will always be other black dolls to profile, follow shoot, shred and torment later.
Posted on: Mon, 15 Jul 2013 11:38:42 +0000
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