Letisha MorrisJuly 25, 2025Comment

Pure Love. Ruthless Truth.

Letisha MorrisJuly 25, 2025Comment

A Manifesto for the Revolutionaries Who Are Done Playing Nice

Black people are so filled with pure love and forgiveness — and that pisses me the fuck off.

Not because love is wrong. Not because forgiveness is weakness.
But because we’ve weaponized both against ourselves.

We love a world that’s only ever loved us for sport, for rhythm, for labor, or for fetish.
We forgive a world that never once asked for it, because we’ve been taught to be better than our pain.
We heal the very systems that cut us open.
And still, we’re told to smile.

But I’m not smiling. I’m seething.
Because let’s be clear: this world owes us everything — everything — and still takes more.

We are the root, the rhythm, the revolution.
We are the blueprint.
We build community from scraps.
We lift spirits while ours are breaking.
We nurture strangers. We create culture.
We invent trends, turn survival into art, and thrive through trauma that would’ve shattered empires.

We carry the Eve gene.
Our women can birth any human walking this earth.
Our men are the most desired and the most endangered.
We are literally living proof of divinity — and yet the world treats us like we’re disposable.

We taught the planet how to wash, how to cook, how to love, how to war, how to worship, how to rule.
From hygiene to pleasure, from science to soul — we taught them all.

And what did they do?
They shackled us, stole from us, renamed us, erased us — and now expect us to be humble about surviving it?

No. That part of the story is done.

We don’t need another kumbaya moment.
We need Ibrahim Traoré level clarity.
Malcolm X level heat.
Kwame Ture level strategy.

And maybe… just maybe… I’m becoming that.

Because I’m tired of this shit.

I'm tired of the cycles.
I'm tired of the corner stores that never speak your language but gladly take your coins.
I’m tired of us pouring billions into economies that don’t pour back.
I’m tired of seeing brilliance trapped in generational traps, because nobody told them there was another way.

Let me be clear:
If you’re out here harming your own, terrorizing your community, turning the hood into a graveyard — I’m not talking to you.
That’s not culture. That’s cowardice.

You want better? Do better. Period.

Stop saying it’s impossible. People escape hell every day.
People fight every damn day.
There is a way.
And if you don’t know how — ask.

Ask and then move different.
Walk like your ancestors are watching.
Spend like your kids’ futures depend on it.
Think like you’re royalty because you are.

I don’t want us to assimilate.
I want us to dominate — mentally, spiritually, financially.
I want Black privilege to be a reality. I want us to walk into every room like we own it, because guess what?

Our ancestors built it.

Be rude. Be educated. Be elevated.
Be the exception that becomes the new standard.
Be so undeniable that they have no choice but to watch.
And when they watch, let them burn with discomfort — because our shine isn’t up for debate.

And yes, I want revenge.
I want a reckoning.
I want the families that built their empires off our backs to never know peace until we get justice.
I want generational accountability — not just for what was done, but for what continues to be done.

Because we were given zero grace.
Zero softness.
Zero safety.

So why should we extend any?

This isn’t hate.
This is divine fury.
This is self-love in its rawest form.
This is protection.
This is alignment.

We need to start grabbing land.
Building compounds.
Creating systems.
Breaking algorithms.
Educating our own.
Feeding our own.
Funding our own.
Freeing our own.

We need to be dangerous with our healing.
Unstoppable in our joy.
Arrogant in our presence.
And cold to everything and everyone that doesn’t center our freedom.