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Black Trauma Porn: Aren’t Black People Worthy of a Happy For Now?
Black trauma porn disgusts my voyeuristic nature. Assured this “fuck” is not the erotic experience I desire. It continues to desecrate my timeline with its sacrilegious earth offerings and I promise, involuntary martyrdom is not a worthy sacrifice, nor is it activism.
However, those who control the media will convince you this is fact.
And while pain can be a beautiful thing, ingesting it in copious amounts is a numbing agent to make viewing the death of Black bodies a bearable torture.
Seeing myself slain across the inter-webs will never be bearable.
There is no activism or awareness in trauma porn.
To argue such exists is mere manipulation, and people addicted to anything seem to fashion it as if the indulgence is painless. Anyone familiar with addiction knows there’s nothing painless about it.
I’m tired of being seduced by trauma porn.
Forced to consume Black death hot takes on social media, in documentaries, TV dramas, and film. Riddled with a belief that Black death is R-rated content curated to romanticize sympathy for a community dehumanized. This pacification only adds to the exhaustion Black people experience daily.
