Not Just Free — Unfuckwithable

So it’s Juneteenth. And as I reflect — as I often do when it comes to my ancestors and all the humans it took to make me — I get rocky. Real rocky.

There is no true comparison to the experience of Black Americans. Not the Holocaust, not Japanese internment, not the Vietnam War. Those were atrocities, yes — but what my people endured was engineered, generational, and foundational to this country’s wealth.

Only the Indigenous — the First Nations — can begin to relate. They were slaughtered, deceived, displaced, and dishonored to this very day. Just like us.

Let’s be clear: my ancestors were stolen, trafficked, raped, and worked like beasts. They were treated as chattel — legally defined as property. And somehow, despite every effort to break us, here I am.

A Black woman. On Earth. Breathing. With divinity braided into my DNA.
Sometimes I’m rocky, sometimes I’m rude, and sometimes I swear I’m possessed by my ancestors. And why wouldn’t I be? I’m their wildest damn dream. I can speak when I want. Move how I want. Create what I want.
They couldn’t even dream of dreaming.

It’s surreal to know I am the product of both unspeakable hate and unstoppable love.
To be Black and American means just that — we are born from contradiction, yet we live in legacy.

And the truth is: no one outside our bloodline, our skin, our story will ever understand.
There are no words that can fully explain how we feel.
No metric that can ever quantify what was stolen.
No math that can calculate the cost.

We paid in bodies. And still we rise.

We are not just survivors of the impossible — we are the source, the spine, and the damn reason the world knows rhythm, resistance, and resilience.

So don’t just “celebrate” Juneteenth — honor it. Walk like you’ve got legacy in your blood and fire in your bones. Uplift Black stories. Buy Black. Build Black. Protect Black. Be louder. Be prouder. Be bolder.
Because freedom ain’t a vibe — it’s a vow.