This is an unapologetic rant…

I’m writing this in blood while stamping my feet and holding my breath. Someone set me off and he didn’t even know it. He has gone on with his day while I remain seething…

Can you imagine a black man anywhere in the U.S. who wasn’t on a first name basis with Trayvon Martin? When Trayvon’s name was mentioned, do you imagine that black men racked their brains to figure out who he was or what the details were of his case?

When I say Marissa, what image is conjured in the minds of some black men? I got my answer earlier today and I am livid. Based on this interaction, it’s not the 33-year old mother of three who is serving a 20 year mandatory sentence for protecting herself from an abusive husband. No, apparently Marissa Alexander is not a household name for some black men.

Here’s the unvarnished truth: My rage masks profound pain. It’s a pain that was perfectly expressed by @baddominicana weeks ago:

“being a black woman is being in the position where EVERYONE has to learn to see you as human. lovers and haters alike. its hell.”

I want to scream but have been taught to express my rage genteelly and gently particularly if it is directed at black men. It feels like betrayal to speak of my anger and most especially of my pain.

Marissa Alexander spends every day in a cage, falsely convicted for merely defending herself. For years now, I’ve stood with and worked for black men in the same predicament. I’ve done this because I too have inherited the indignities of being born black in this country. I’ve recognized that our fates are tied together and that I cannot be free while my brothers are captive. I affirm their humanity and their right to exist free from oppression. And yet for the most part, this has been a uni-directional relationship. There is little reciprocity.

I’ve held on to my unspoken grief. I’ve been walking around with untended scars. I want a new definition of black solidarity; one that doesn’t erase me. It isn’t just black manhood that has been criminalized by the state. Marissa Alexander and thousands of other black women’s lives attest to this fact.

I have retreated to denial and rationalization about the fact that my brothers are often late or absent to support my struggles. I am afraid that some mistake my skin for that of an enemy.I turn my rage at the “system” because I cannot articulate my hurt about the black men who fail to protect, commiserate, or console. My rationalization also keeps me from thinking about the black men who actually choose to act against me. And today, it was a seemingly innocuous question that set me off and has me seeing red.

I am writing this in my blood because I am bleeding out & I can’t find my pen…