I get to be alive another year
and there are people who can’t go to the grocery store
or finish grade school
or sit in church
without the interruption of bullets.
My life keeps opening up.
Meanwhile, opportunities close for women in Texas, Oklahoma,
all over the us.
Men I once respected support other men they’ve never met over women in their own lives.
Rage is a part of the celebration. I bring her to the party.
Rage is a way of saying that I’m still here,
and for as long as that is the case,
I’m going to bring two more hands to solutions over problems.
I’m still here—about to turn 29—
and Breonna Taylor should be too.
Survival isn’t worth much when guilt sandbags it.
We have to make our blessings matter by mobilizing through radical hope.
May our optimism radicalize us enough to burn every oppressive bridge
so every marginalized life feels warm again.