I will never be ashamed to be black. I am in love with my melanin skin and how the deep shades of brown lay on me like silk. I rock every kink and curl fiercely. I am so honored to come from a lineage of strong women who never gave up.

I absolutely adore the fact that my ancestors come from one of the greatest continents in this world, Africa. It gives me great joy to look throughout history and experience the creativity of my people. My culture is dark chocolate rich (no pun intended). Yes, I am proud, however, I am also hurting.

It hurts me to see another black man or woman reduced to a hashtag. It is gut wrenching to see videos of unarmed black men and women killed. Black death has always been a form of entertainment.

Instead of packing lunches, rounding up the kids and gathering at the largest tree to see a nigga hung, we can just scroll down our facebook feed. These videos are just modern day lynching. Maybe the times have never changed, but maybe the technology is just exposing what has always been.

I often say I am thankful for Donald Trump. His hate filled speech and bigotry have only exposed what the vast majority of this country thinks. He is not the author or the orchestrator of hate. He has just made it comfortable for people to vocalize how they really feel. How do they really feel? Simply put, they hate us. I know what you're thinking. Hate is a strong word.

Explain to me how you can walk into a church bible study, kill people and be escorted to a lunch before being arrested, alive. Explain to me how you can plant a bomb in NYC injuring many people and be arrested, alive.

Explain how that occurs but innocent, unarmed black men and women are killed for selling CDs out of a car (Alton Sterling), selling loose cigarettes (Eric Gardner), not speaking politely to an officer (Sandra Bland), reading a book (Keith Lamont), doing their job (Charles Kinsey) and reaching for their wallet (Amadou Diallo). I wish I could say the list ends there, but it doesn't. It continues. The only thing all instances have in common: melanin, the skin they were in.

This hurts in a different kind of way because America has never properly dealt with the way in which blacks in this country have been treated. Germany is genuinely ashamed of Hitler and the Holocaust. They literally hate that it happened. America denies the impact of slavery and even suggests black Americans must get over it. Well, sorry not sorry, but we won't.

How can we get over our ancestors being stolen and forced here, only to be treated like animals?

How can I get over the fact that my ancestors were ripped away from their own children, so they could breastfeed the slave owners child? How can I get over the fact that reparations never actually came and our community is still suffering to this day?

How can I get over one of my students having to do a family tree project and not able to trace herself back to her people? She knows she has people somewhere, but she can't identify them. She can't call them by name because the slave owners and traders made it so that we would lose our roots, voided of our heritage. No, I won't get over it.

What's worst is that all my former places of safety are now just foreign. I use to find refuge in my church. It was my safe place, but how can I now? How can I live everyday black, only to go to church on Sunday and have to ignore what is happening? Why are churches so quiet? Where are the ministers and apostles? Your black brothers and sisters need you, and you're letting us down.

I have questions that need answers and are going unanswered.

I have trauma that may not be treated because with each new life stolen, I am once again triggered.

I have deep pain for my community, my brothers and my sisters.

All we are doing is fighting for our place here. We are saying we belong here. Why do we belong here? Because our ancestors built this damn country on their back. They were silent, so I could one day speak. So, hear me.