Today, A White Woman Sang To Me About My Demoralized Black Life.

“Freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose,” sang Janis Joplin as I ran by Black Lives Matter Plaza.

Freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose
Nothin’, don’t mean nothin’ hon’ if it ain’t free, no no…

Today, I heard Janis Joplin sing “Me And Bobby McGee” in my earbuds as a hazy sunset cast a filtered haze over Black Lives Matter Plaza in Washington, DC.

Also, today, in one verse, a white woman sang multitudes to me about the demoralizing nature of my Black life.

The yellow letters cautioning against ill-tempered fascism’s literal and metaphorical march into the heart of America’s capital city finally appeared less vibrant and proud and more forlorn and foreboding in their muted, under-lit tones. At present, fist-shaking activism feels like the most tired and empty way to prove the physical validity of my Black existence. Thus, seeing a mural as a testament to the whole body, whole mind, and entire soul exhaustion, I feel about the matter smacks of a level of visceral exasperation that only Janis Joplin’s uniquely sonorous tones can calm.