I slowly let the water drip down on me while I wash my body,
I fill my hand with cream and carefully rub it my body,
Or should I say my skin?-My black skin.
Like it is never enough to have contact with it EVERYDAY,
They feel the need to remind me of it as often as I breathe,
That I am that color USUALLY ARTISTICALLY COMPATIBLE with that of ancient the walls.
At the start of every day,
I walk out with confidence and joy,
It turns out to be a shock
To embrace “WHAT” I AM TO MANY NOT “WHO” I AM.
I never was oblivious to why I seemed different,
But why wouldn’t I be proud to the Black?
I won’t deny history,
I am a product of the hurt, chained, restless and once hopeless
But your grammar is wrong, there’s no full stop so don’t force it
I am also a product of
Rosa Parks-the mother of freedom movement
Bessie Coleman-The FIRST AFRICAN American to hold pilot license
Thurgood Marshall-the FIRST AFRICAN American in the U.S supreme court
Dr. King- the Father of the civil rights movement
And that’s not even QUARTER OF MY EXTENDED FAMILY
I am a product of greatness.
My ancestors are the VEINS of this America,
The PIONEERS of the economy we want to believe as greatest,
Is rooted by day and night CULTIVATION AT THE FIELDS
Every day they spent working as slaves
Made them the GREATEST laborers
Withstanding all norms of UV light and poisonous particles,
So, while you remind me of MY EVIDENT BLACK,
I will remind you that the greatest weapon ever made,
Is the black man.
If this was ever denied to be universally true,
Malcolm X, Jesse Jackson, Dorothy Height
The only definite uniqueness of America,
Despite of the obvious danger,
They gladly walked into the mouth of the dragon
To free you and I and give us platform to exercise our rights.
America’s branding solely imbedded in the black man,
Oprah, Mae Jemison, Maya Angelou
Flawlessly spitting out courage,
And polishing off the self-inflicted dirt on our skin.
But it’s a shame,
That I can name,
How many have gripped the fame.
Given in to the construction of boundaries to my abilities,
Based on my skin-my poor Black skin.
Forgetting we are the foundation that our ancestors built,
To form the world in which we are forgotten.
Does that sound peculiar?
Yes, because a house is nothing without its foundation.
The roof will never look down upon the walls,because without them, it would never stand.
Same way branches of a tree don’t deny their roots because they hold them up.
We let them call us lazy,
Yet they say those who go through trials come out as triumphs.
You can’t blame them sometimes,
One drop of unclean water contaminates an entire ocean (But this is a story of its own)
We walk the same distance using different paths, (which I thought was LIFE)
I walk on thorns while you walk on pavements
Put aside that injustice, and realize that’s the pride in being black.
I have a history of victory.
You are a rose in a cacti garden
Your skin is no symbol of weakness,
Nor is it a cloth of shame,
I am not an empty frame, I am a platinum painting that you see and realize I am more than Mona Lisa
It should be your motivation to build a vision,
For though we swam this far, we have longer to go.
Aim not for being an exception,
Or one of the collected data in Statistics for profession,
Celebrate not only what was done,
Until all grass is dead, celebrate what is being written.
For change not instantaneous, change is progress.
Change is a process.
Change is not turning white,
Change is flaunting your black.