I Can’t Keep My Mouth Shut: The New Lynchings Are Paperwork

#ICantKeepMyMouthShut #ThePossibilityOfMe #OnPaperPress #MemoireInThreeMovement #SayItAnyway #TooRealToBeSilent #TheSystemIsLying #SurvivalAintLiberation #TruthTeller #VoiceIsPower #LeadLoudly #BuiltFromTruth #IAmNotForSale #SilenceNeverSavedMe #RefuseToShrink #UnapologeticallyWhole #DignityIsNonNegotiable #UnbossedUnbought #FuckThatRespectfully #FreedomDontComeWithAMuzzle #ThisIsNotProfessionalism #PlayTheGameForWhat #ProfessionalismIsSubmission #BurnItDownAndBuildBetter #WeDeserveMoreThanSurvival #RemunerationAintRedemption #BlackLiberation #NarrativeShift #ReclaimYourVoice #BreakTheContract #RestIsResistance #DisruptToRebuild #LiberatedLeadership #PowerInNaming #RevolutionInPlainSight #WeAreTheOnes #BriacialForLife

“The More I Speak, The More I Exist"

Let me tell you something.

If I had learned to bite my tongue a little harder,

I might still be sitting at certain tables.

I might have a longer résumé, a cleaner story,

a few more folks clapping for me from a safe distance.

I might’ve survived inside systems a bit longer

before the shaking started again.

But I can’t keep my mouth shut.

And I never could.

Because I’ve tried silence.

It tastes like ash.

Silence didn’t protect me in church pews

or nonprofit boardrooms.

It didn’t save me from abuse, from exploitation,

from racism dressed up in progressive policy.

Silence never kept me safe.

It just taught me how to disappear.

And I’m done disappearing.

They said I should’ve kept quiet.

I would’ve lasted longer. Gone further. Had more.

Had more what, exactly?

More tolerance for being used?

More time inside systems that fed off my silence?

More money, maybe. More applause.

More time being everyone’s favorite until I told the truth?

Because here’s what they really meant:

Keep your mouth shut.

Take the harm.

Carry the blame.

Play along.

And maybe—maybe—they’ll let you stay.

That’s not growth.

That’s survival in a system designed to punish clarity.

That’s exploitation repackaged as opportunity.

That’s martyrdom dressed up in a blazer and a benefits package.

They call it professionalism.

I call it submission.

They call it “knowing how to move."

I call it knowing how to disappear without dying.

I Make My Own Rules

They say play the game.

Homey—what game?!

They ain’t running nothing but a centuries-old scam where the winners are always the ones who keep their mouths shut and their heads down.

The ones who tell the truth?

We get pushed out. Priced out. Labeled “difficult.”

They drain us dry and then call it “strategy.”

They don’t have to hang us anymore.

Now they just offer us a “seat at the table” and dare us to speak freely.

They call it opportunity—but it’s really a contract:

Silence in exchange for survival.

Erasure in exchange for a paycheck,

or a degree,

a promotion,

a scholarship,

an admission,

a friendship,

a relationship,

a chance to belong.

We let the system pimp us because we perform for remuneration.

A raise. A title. A feature in somebody’s newsletter.

We trade truth for tolerance and call it leadership.

We let them applaud our silence and call it respect.

And when you don’t play?

When you speak the truth anyway?

When you refuse to bow just to be allowed?

Suddenly you’re the threat.

You’re the problem.

You’re the sellout.

Not because you sold out—but because you refused to sell yourself short.

Because you were too bold to be boxed.

Too free to be controlled.

Fuck that.

I’m not here to survive someone else’s setup.

I’m not here to keep my head down while the building burns.

I’m not playing by their rules.

I’ll make my own damn game.

And in mine?

Truth is currency.

Dignity is non-negotiable.

And freedom doesn’t come with a muzzle.

Truth Makes People Uncomfortable

My dad told me, not long ago,

“You messed up so many jobs. If you woulda just kept your mouth shut…”

I’ve always known this:

I didn’t mess them up.

I told the truth in rooms that wanted my presence but not my perspective.

I named harm.

I stood up when sitting down would’ve been easier.

And I paid for it.

But what I gained was mine. And it’s still growing.

You know what I’ve learned?

People don’t hate me because I’m unkind.

They hate me because I see it all—and I say it.

They hate that I won’t pretend.

That I won’t be quiet.

That I ask too many questions.

That I make them confront things they’ve built whole careers avoiding.

I’m not here to make people comfortable.

I’m here to make things clear.

So now, I build what they never thought I could.

I write what they never thought I’d say.

I love loud. I lead louder.

And I’ve only just begun to speak.

This Is Just The Beginning

📣 On June 10, I’ll be dropping the first public excerpt from my upcoming book:

The Possibility of Me: A Memoire in Three Movements.

A book that was never supposed to be written.

A book full of what I wasn’t supposed to say.

A book I had to fight to give voice to.

And on July 4, something else is coming.

Let’s just say… this is my kind of independence day.

A reclamation. A surprise. A launch. You’ll see.

So, if this landed in your spirit—say something.

We don't do silence here.

Comment. Share. Stay close.

Because the next part? You don’t want to miss it.

And I want you with me.