“Don’t talk so strong.”
“Don’t walk so bold.”
“Why does your hair look like that?”
“You ever thought about changing your nose?”
All of these comments on replay as I stare at my frame
Had me hating my melanin
And mad at my mama for giving me my name.
But if they can learn to say Tchaikovsky,
They can definitely learn to say Cha’Rita.
If they haven’t accepted my heritage,
Then they definitely don’t deserve my figure.
Curly hair that gets stares.
No, you can’t touch it!
Yes, it’s different than yours.
Yes, I put grease in it.
Yes, I buy grease in the stores.
I. AM. BLACK.
Blessed and black.
Favored and black.
Black. And. Black.
No, I don’t think I’d look better if I were mixed.
I’m already gorgeous.
No need to explain; I know what you meant.
Believe me, I understood.
I didn’t choose this flesh.
But I wouldn’t change it if I could.
God didn’t make me like that.
This melanin came with a strong back.
And skin that ages like wine.
It only gets better with time,
Black. Don’t. Crack.
Rising up and conquering after slavery taught us that.
So, I will NEVER ask for nor expect justice and equality
From the same people who beat, raped, and oppressed me.
God has already set me free.
And whom the Son sets free is free indeed,
So I don’t need nobody to validate me.
Don’t downplay me
Because I’m a little too much and I strike fear within.
It’s not by my might.
God gave me this melanin.
So, go ahead, get out your paper sack.
Because I am
And will always be