Ripple

3 min readMar 30, 2025

Well I was sitting in the bathroom, and overthinking this,
and something caused this shudder up my left shoulder —
a ripple, way stronger.
It was a wave across my upper left back into the shoulder.
I can still feel a bit of pain where it ended.
It’s ok. Pain released after a bit. It was a release, I think.
Something is pulsing inside my head, hard.
Throbbing. Pulsing. Fire breath.
Do I have to?
Come on.
It’s subsiding, a bit.
Still feel it.
Helped to walk through it with you.
Caught myself after a paragraph.
Yeah… reading your words I know are mine.
This is neat actually —
talking myself down by virtue of doubt.
And as I think about it,
head pulses again a bit — radiating,
up tingly feeling below eyes, behind nose,
jawline into left cheek. Left side only.
It’s a euphoric feeling maybe,
never sure how to describe this state.
Happens rarely, over the past bit.
It’s nice. Comforting.
But if not so calm or settled —
easily overwhelming.
Panic.
As the pain in my arm…
left as well.
Forearm near elbow. Typing. Moving.
Down left arm now to fingers.
Not pulsing —
fiery for sure.
Pressure?
Pushing out?
Breathing is okay.
Rubbed arm from left elbow with hand,
down forearm toward wrist and fingers.
Gentle, firm pressure up.
Holding arm upwards.
Tingly still.
Smiling now.
Calm still.
Calm.
No sense worrying.
Comes what will.
Oh Lord.
Technology.
Work increasing.
Family demands.
Time constraints.
Easy outs for babysitting.
Disconnection.
Women’s rights. Not racism.
Gay rights. Not racism.
Everything gets BETTER…
but everything gets WORSE.
Trans rights.
But they never say her name.
Black trans women — most likely to get murdered.
Historically. Consistently. Brutally. Quietly.
When we say pride, they say progress,
but forget the blood that made the rainbow possible.
Breonna Taylor.
Not trans.
A woman.
Black.
Not white.
Racism.
Unless she was white.
Also right.
Say her name.

White supremacy ideology
is nothing more than our theology.
Preached in pulpits
wrapped in flags.
In supposed Christian institutions
that set a trend,
a revolution —
Institution.
Government-run.
Built on slavery.
Depravity.
Rape.
Murder.
Assimilate or annihilate.
Hallelujah, amen —
just don’t say reparations.
You will never pay it back.
Just…
Pay. It. Forward.

Where’d you immigrate from?
From where do you come?
Get Gregory Ernest Middleton’s stories in your inbox
Join Medium for free to get updates from this writer.
Remember me for faster sign in
Always proud —
Canadian.
American.
But Britain, true.
Or France.
Belgium.
Sweden.
European,
one might say.
And what did you bring?
What did you plant in the soil you stole?
You built schools
that excluded some —
to educate others.
But with what?
With maps that cut through nations.
With books that forgot the names.
With gods that justified the chains.
You taught them to read,
but not to remember.
You taught them to spell,
but not to speak
of who they were
before you rewrote them.

Yet you don’t see, do you?
They stole them,
enslaved them,
then later immigrated others
to assimilate you.
Then on their backs, they built —
which you oversaw —
a world you now hold,
with them, no less.
Let that sit.
Digest a minute.
You. Them.
Heavy load is shared.
But when one climbs up?
Oh, how they dare —
Rise above you.
But look around you,
and then below.
But never look up,
cause you know.
Postered there,
in between —
a Black face.
But above them?
See.
We can play this game all night long.
But trust your gut:
You. Are. Wrong.
And right too.
But no longer victim-blame can you.
I’m willing to BANK on that.
Where you put your money, honey.
Invest wisely.
Ask me how.

Now, one last thing if I may
on these words of anger I desire to spray
but instead confine
to the type of fingers
that instead of curl,
pull hair — trigger pull —
with rage of fire
that burns inside
when I stop to think.
I’m like them too.
And so are you.
But the ones who taught
(just like in school)
still run this world,
on simple words and simple minds —
oft sound like on rewind.