Where is this fantasy place where, me and my people can get turnt up and say everything?
He/she/they didn’t deserve to die?
Is this place of danger the place where I can let my hair down and spend time preening and fluffing my fro without dodging strange white fingers and the rapacious curiosity of whiteness that just wants to find out.
Is this Echo Chamber a place where pretty femme boys can get their nails did and slay and be pretty? Is this echo chamber where I can say how done I am with white feminism -not all white women- how done I am with men -not all men- where the devil don’t need an advocate because the shit I talk about isn’t just identity politics -so boring for white men-and my people see that this is life and death?
In the mythic echo chamber does the burden of polite, completely annotated researched with numbers education fall on someone other than me? Is this where I can run wild and just speak my truth to power without research stamped and approved by Whiteness?
Sign me up.
How do I immigrate?
Is there paperwork? I have my pen. I have my SJW badge and battle scars.
I’m ready to go.
In the dream Chamber of Echo I hear my people hollering, YASSSSS BITCH.
We got fat people in booty shorts twerking for joy and crop babes being loud and the faggotry get so thick in the air the weather service calls it a Hot Queer and Steamy front.
In this place it is lit.
We are free.
We can breath
Like, let a bitch live?
How do I get there? Do I go back in the closet and come out again like it’s fucking Narnia?
Do I say Black Lives Matter in the mirror three times?
Is there an app?
Come on. It has to be somewhere. So many White people are worried about it, it must exist like Black neighborhoods did in Seattle did…once.
White men explain the dangers to me of creating this magical place.
I mean, obviously they have to have the space to take their rightful place. Who else is gonna question my humanity until I submit?
How else might the devil change my mind about my lived experience?
Who else will demand proof that I am traumatized and can’t take it?
Who else will push until I’m in tears and wondering why I bother even trying to show my human face?
Who will make sure anytime I talk about racism that I should note that I don’t literally mean every White person ever?
Who will I reassure that they are the One True Ally?
I dunno y’all.
I guess those guys are right. I need their theories on how shit impacts me personally.
Without them, how will I imagine how hard it must be not to be centered in every conversation.
Cause like, all lives matter and we Blacks should be grateful we’re free and always have a yes sir on our lips.
I should stop dreaming.
The myth was made to make me feel shitty for wanting a respite from Whiteness and fish eye to patriarchy.
The threat is that in my quest for five minutes of peace, my devil’s advocate allies will pack up their toys and go home.
The myth was made to put me in my place for saying no.
I see you.
I know what you mean when you invoke the threat of me creating an Echo Chamber.
I see you
And your aggressive fear displays.
And I will remember.
While I search for the promised Land of the Echo Chamber.