Activists Weren’t Born that Way

When I wear my Black Lives Matter t-shirt, I’m self-conscious

at first

then I forget about it

until

a middle-aged white man keeps staring

or

a woman my age stares and looks away and stares back to make sure she’s seen what she thinks she’s seen.

And then I feel a bottomless well of pride for the activists who speak up and walk up and take the microphone and shout up.

I am uneasy simply wearing a shirt.

It’s so easy to say, “They’re activists,” and forget they weren’t always

so brave.

Black folk don’t give the shirt a second thought.

Wearing my BLM t-shirt at March for Our Lives because it isn’t “either/or,” none of it is

 

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