ÌÇÐÄÆƽâ°æ

 â€™17 is a ÌÇÐÄÆƽâ°æ alumna, former Hackworth Fellow with the Markkula Center for Applied Ethics, and pro bono case manager at Philadelphia VIP, a provider of free legal services.

 

I am tired.

I am tired of having the same conversations, the same arguments, the same petitions, the same marches. All to simply exist.

I am tired of being shown that I don’t matter. That my brother doesn’t matter. That my mother doesn’t matter. That my father doesn’t matter. That my aunts, uncles, nieces, and nephews don’t matter. I am tired. I am so profoundly tired.  

I was tired in Selma in 1965 and I am tired now. 

I am tired of needing to reassure myself that I matter. That we matter. I am tired.

I am tired of using my trauma and emotional labor to educate others. I am tired.

I am tired of explaining respectability politics. I am tired of explaining that buildings can be rebuilt, but a life that is lost cannot come back.

I am tired of seeing black bodies mutilated.

I am tired of seeing black bodies murdered.

I was tired in Mississippi in 1955 and I am tired now. 

I am tired of not feeling safe.

I am tired of living in a country that mourns broken glass and burned buildings, but not broken necks.

I am tired.

I am tired. I can’t buy skittles.

I am tired. I can’t play in a park.

I am tired. I can’t drive home.

I am tired. I can’t sell CDs. 

I am tired. I can’t sell cigarettes. 

I am tired. I am tired of being left in the street.

I am tired. I can’t jog.

I am tired. I can’t sleep in my own home.

I am tired. I can’t bird watch.

I am tired of chokeholds. 

I am tired of being a target.

I was tired in Los Angeles in 1992. I am still tired. 

I am tired of new hashtags.

I am tired of living in fear. I am tired of wondering who’s next. I am tired.

I was tired in Virginia in August 1831. I am still tired. 

I am tired of mourning. 

I am tired of protesting. 

I am tired of crying, screaming, and fighting for justice.

I am tired of asking, begging, and pleading for equality.

I am tired of waiting. 

I am tired.

I am tired.

We are tired.

Aren’t you?

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by Robin DiAngelo 

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