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I’m honestly sitting here tussling with what feels like a million emotions at war in my heart. I’m angry, because the past is an ever-present reality. Black life still doesn’t matter.  I’m hurt, because even the so-called good people who see our bodies dropping in the wind won’t admit the root cause. A large body of white life hates black life. I’m at a lost, because when they urge us to do the best with our lives, even in the earnest moments of worship, our lives have no value. I read a quote on yesterday by a young writer for Black

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