Growing up like any other kid i had to have “the talk”. You know the talk when they explain that people will automatically assume that your ignorant, thunderous, and bombastic because your 10 shades darker than them. Or you know the talk when you realize the kids freshman year meant it as a compliment when they said you sound whiteOr or or the talk that you have when they finally sit you down and explain to you that people with badges slaughter hundreds of people who look exactly like you so be VERY VERY CAREFUL and don't act too black because mama doesn't want to lose you. By the age of 12 I realized I had been reduced to a color that my character some how predetermined my predicamentsMy brothers black so he could get shot in the back by badge for his race....the melanin in his face. I turn of news stations and logout of instagram so i don't have to see tamar rice's face, because when i look into his eyes i see my thirteen year old cousin. Who loves playing with bb guns and shoots oranges and pop can out of trees. But he lives in a white neighborhood so that means that sirens can run through and do a drive by and reduce him to another stereotype. All my life i had to fight stereotypes but i guess i am one because i'm a angry black woman!
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