Dear future black Americans,

I was born August 15, 1818

With Africa in my genes.

Bought into slavery, don’t know my family,

Don’t have no education 

But they got me on this damn plantation.

 

Picking cotton, as the chocolate drips from my skin

Black scars, as the chocolate hangs from the tree

Prayers and hope, as the chocolate gets on one knee.

 

My title is midwife now, I’ve been promoted, 

Delivering babies, I was devoted

Racism still gloated. 

 

 One christmas day,  I was underneath the Christmas tree,

As my owner delivered me to his cousin as a gift for free.

Soon after that chocolate grew weak, as my body he began to seek.

I bore beautiful girls that altered my world. 

 

Traveled the South like cattle, until we ended up in a free state.

My owner kept us illegally, soon I would  know my fate. 

Went to trial, I won the case!

 Earning 2.50 an hour, and had my own place.

As a midwife, as a nurse,

I saved up some Lincolns,

Helping my community is what I was thinking.

 

Fed the poor what I had on my stove

Built the first church, built the first black elementary school 

I am the soil of Downtown L.A.

 

I still worry for the lives of my brothers and sisters, and yours too

As racism will continue to spew.

I’m trapped inside my own thriller,

My soul I must search.

This chocolate that you taste is Biddy Mason Ame Church 

 

Hello, it’s me, the one you wrote the letter to.

Your story is inspiring, but I had no clue,

History books do not know you!

 

Today, shackles still hold us down,

As we can’t walk with our families on any side of town.

 

Not until I faced a mural, plastered was your face,

As I snapped a picture of someone who held my race.

I stumbled across you, and was intrigued

All the information I found left me fatigued.

 

Lorber’s stratification system you violated,

Even though your freedom was annihilated.

 

Yosso’s aspirations to fight injustices,

Never made you turn to substances.

 

And Madrid’s definition of the other,

Did not stop you, despite being a single mother.

 

I wanted you to know that life still feels the same,

As racism has become a game 

White supremacy is to blame 

As sometimes chocolate is turn to shame.

 

I pick my fro, while you picked cotton,

That image will never be forgotten.

 

You taught me success, despite distress

But, more importantly equality is what I press.

 

I can be a CEO,

I can be a pro, 

I can cure cancer,

I can be a dancer, 

I can be me.

 

Thank you for your hope

I won’t give up, nope.

 

Equality is what I plea,

This chocolate I taste is me. 

 

                                               

 

Thank You