My best poem'll be my suicide note
the very last thing I ever wrote
a goodbye to those who don't even care
but those I love, because life's unfair.
But this ain't it it's not good enough
but I swear one day I write the right stuff
and it'll be goodbye to the whole world
and so comes the darkness, black wings unfurled

Yes you are the kids
You are the future of poetry
I've had my day
Reveled in the glory
But the Baton must be passed
To you, the young, the beautiful
Who write the words
.And so I fade into glory
My time here is done
I ask the young ones here
To make sure the the flag is flown

I never think much about the fact that I am black.
I know I am black.
Like I know I am a girl,
Like I know I am an American,
Like I know I am nineteen.
It is a fact; I am black.

I hate when people say I am not.
My parents are black.
Their parents are black.
We are black.
Look at my skin,
It's dark and it's beautiful.
How could I not be black?
I am black.

I hate when people say I don't 'act' black.
How does one act to be considered black?
How am I acting? How is it not black?
Look at my skin,
It's dark and it's beautiful.
How could I not act black?
I am black.

I hate when people say I speak like a white person.
A way of speaking is not exclusive to race.
I am not white.
I do not speak like a white person.
My words are coming out of my black mouth.
I speak properly,
The way my black parents raised me to.
Look at my skin,
Its dark and it's beautiful.
How could I not speak black?
I am black.

I HATE when people say I am a white person trapped in a black body.
I have NEVER heard anything more insulting.
I am NOT trapped.
This color is NOT a cell.
I wear it proudly.
Look at MY skin,
It is DARK and it is BEAUTIFUL!
How could I ever be trapped?
I am black.

I am in no way white,
Nor do I ever want to be.
I am black
And black is beautiful

I liked that you liked my poetry, true.
But I didn't write poems to impress you.
I wrote because of what you made me feel
I wrote so I could remember it was real
I wrote because the emotion was too great
So I still write even though I'm too late
I can't change your mind
not with my words, no matter how kind.
But I still write, because I still must
because I still feel, though all is dust.
I also made you a promise, one I intend to keep
and so this poem you're reading now, is what my heart does weep.

Work so hard
at what you love
that your idols
become your rivals.