I am not Trayvon Martin....
but I know what it feels like to wear my
favorite hoodie that's a little too dark for
those who were taught to fear darker things
like dark skin that's only good enough to border
the outskirts of picture-perfect privilege
or dark hair that curls into itself late at night
after a long day of curious hands wanting to touch it
or eyes darker than the shadows that follow
closely while I shop at my favorite corner store.
I am a woman who has been stalked by the
cars of men who thirsted for the disadvantages
of my youthfulness; I am a Black woman who
was taught (by a Black woman) to never mind
the suspicions that gathered in a stranger's mind
and seared from the tongue.
I remember walking in the rain. This turned
the heads of white strangers who weren't used to
seeing Black people walk in the rain. It seems
like Black people, hoodies, and rain mix just as well
as "nappy" hair and rain mix.