Black.

No longer just a skin color but a culture.

No longer a protective covering but a name by which any other race

Must refer to as “African American.”

A color with a history lesson… that I am sick and tired of relearning.

 

I am not this “African American.”

I have never set foot on the Motherland

And the likelihood of me ever doing so is like Obama

Repenting of his sins toward America.

 

Don’t get me wrong. I appreciate my history.

I know that my people were torn from the Motherland.

I know that they were sold as property and not even awarded

The courtesy of being called as such.

 

I know that my people walked miles to experience a phenomenon

Called “humanity.” I know that they fought for the right to be

A businessman. A respected author. President.

But let me ask you something:

 

Knowing that what happened was in the past,

Why now must it be my present and the only future I have to look forward to?

The past was never my battle to be fought.

The past was meant to be a warning of hate, not a fuel for it.

 

I do not ignore the past

But I refuse to embrace its enticing arms.

I refuse to believe that victimization

Is the only way to achieve salvation.

 

Black.

By definition it can either be the absence of

Or the complete absorption of light.

But I am not a color that can be defined by science

 

I am a human.

I produce more melanin that any other race.

My nose is wider than Angelina Jolie’s

My lips require more lipstick than I can afford.

 

But I am not black.

I will not allow the darkness of hate

To consume me to point that I can no longer

See the light of the future.

I will not be so consumed that I detach my identity

And attach it to that of my breathless ancestors.

 

I am not black. I am a soul.

The light in my human eyes can only be replaced the light

Of God when I see His face with my new ones.

My past will mean nothing because I will experience His presence.

Black.

A Shakespearean decision

To be overcome by the darkness of my people

… or to overcome.Black.

No longer just a skin color but a culture.

No longer a protective covering but a name by which any other race

Must refer to as “African American.”

A color with a history lesson… that I am sick and tired of relearning.

 

I am not this “African American.”

I have never set foot on the Motherland

And the likelihood of me ever doing so is like Obama

Repenting of his sins toward America.

 

Don’t get me wrong. I appreciate my history.

I know that my people were torn from the Motherland.

I know that they were sold as property and not even awarded

The courtesy of being called as such.

 

I know that my people walked miles to experience a phenomenon

Called “humanity.” I know that they fought for the right to be

A businessman. A respected author. President.

But let me ask you something:

 

Knowing that what happened was in the past,

Why now must it be my present and the only future I have to look forward to?

The past was never my battle to be fought.

The past was meant to be a warning of hate, not a fuel for it.

 

I do not ignore the past

But I refuse to embrace its enticing arms.

I refuse to believe that victimization

Is the only way to achieve salvation.

 

Black.

By definition it can either be the absence of

Or the complete absorption of light.

But I am not a color that can be defined by science

 

I am a human.

I produce more melanin that any other race.

My nose is wider than Angelina Jolie’s

My lips require more lipstick than I can afford.

 

But I am not black.

I will not allow the darkness of hate

To consume me to point that I can no longer

See the light of the future.

I will not be so consumed that I detach my identity

And attach it to that of my breathless ancestors.

 

I am not black. I am a soul.

The light in my human eyes can only be replaced the light

Of God when I see His face with my new ones.

My past will mean nothing because I will experience His presence.

Black.

A Shakespearean decision

To be overcome by the darkness of my people

… or to overcome.