Gyves to Graces

Being not white in America is something like walking across hot coals. The pain is constant. Sometimes you step wrong or hit a particularly hot coal and it hurts a little more. Sometimes the coals blaze up and consume you. All the while there are these people jogging past you on lovely, cool, manicured grass. Most of them won’t look at you. Some of them are confused as to why the hell you’re over there on the coals when the grass is so much nicer. Some of that group are actively trying to direct you to the grass. Some of the people berate you for staying on that path of coals because why would anyone stay there unless they were too lazy or too stupid to leave.

None of them see the fence that keeps us on the coals because for them it doesn’t exist.