On Buffalo and White Supremacy: The Last Whimpers of Denial… Die

By The Mad Chronically Ill Girl

Things tend to die, especially after they’ve grown worn and old. They tend to wither and dry up, like the petals of an old flower that just didn’t get enough sunlight and/or water.

I found my flower petals detached from the stem one morning just days after I had received them for Mother’s Day. They were just as dry and discarded as those last whimpers from the truly clueless when it comes to denying the existence of White supremacy in this country.