I can't breathe.

I can’t breathe. The air’s too thick. Inflating my lungs, But not giving me life

I can’t breathe. The air’s in me Filling my chest, wrapping around my throat, Smothering me

I can’t breathe Through this stench of hatred and guilt. And this poisoned air does not want to give me life. This unbearable weather does not allow me to thrive.

Can we change the weather? Can we suck all of this toxic air from our bodies without imploding from the pressure?

I don’t know, I don’t know.

All I feel is that hot, damp air in my lungs All I see is that thick veil hanging in the air Making it impossible to move forward with any confidence in my steps

I hear the fog horns ringing in my ears But the sound does not clear the air It just warns me of what’s coming

And reminds me that I can’t see, I can’t move, I can’t breathe…

We try to predict the weather. We observe, we report, And weather-permitting, we move on.

But how long will it take you to see? This cycle has gone unbroken for centuries.

We change the climate. We create the weather.

And that hand around our throats? It’s always been there Constricting our movement, counting our breaths.

Even if you refuse to see me, Drowning on dry land Remember that we can’t breathe free Until you acknowledge that the hand is around your throat too And that its grip is tightening.

"The rest is weather... Just weather." ~Toni Morrison, Beloved