I  am told that I apologize too frequently
And it's true, I'm sorry
I'm sorry for who I am, and
more importantly who I could be and should be but am not
If I could
I would
escape this body
This stomach
These thighs
These arms
This mind
This mouth
If I could
I would be tall and strong and proud
If I could
I would be athletic and healthy
I would enjoy running and jumping and forgetting
I would have games you could attend
And awards you could collect
And a GPA you could overlook
I would embody a daughter you could accept
If I could have a ***** I would
I would stop the disappointment before it began
I would be the mistake that was worth it
I would walk with my chin up
I would be funny and fearless
Everything that you think you are
I would be persuasive and charming
I would dribble a ball
or maybe even throw one
I would be accepting of your mistakes because it's likely I would repeat them
I wouldn't be so sensitive,
or so difficult to be around
I would be the son you have to tried so tirelessly to morph me into
If I could I would have a voice that I am unafraid to use
I would say what I want to say when I want to say it
And not worry about who hears or who cares
I would be honest and open
And not concern myself with privacy,
Tear this fleshy exterior and give my bones some air
Let my secrets and my past and my fears breathe
I would need you as much as you need me
Let you hug me and hold me and believe that everything will be alright, when it won't
If I could I would overlook all afflictions you have done and make you feel like my life has been unaffected by your mistakes
I would be strong and brass
I would be smarter and more leveled
If I could I would unravel and go unguarded to be poked and prodded
Just to  make you feel closer to me
If I could I would stop being so emotional
I would sow my tear ducts shut and hold my feelings about what you have done to me at my feet
so they never reach my tongue
If I could I would stop being so flawed
So freckled
and so fatty
So hairy
and so unhappy
So determined
and so disappointing
So opinionated
and so oppressed
If I could I would shed this skin and become the woman life and those who gave it to me want me to be
My wave of self hate comes in cycles
And today the tide is especially high
If I was sorry
For being a human being
I would
I apologize

I'm finding myself with writers block because all I seem to find inspiration in is the color of my skin
Or being black to be  exact
Or what it's like to be young and African American and in this great country
I become frustrated that this is what I write about it
this is what I feel the need to speak on
that this is what my soul is finding refuge to release
Sometimes I think I'm getting repetitive but I'm realizing if young unjust black deaths didn't happen so often maybe I wouldn't have to write about them
maybe if my young unarmed black brothers weren't murdered in vain
maybe if I heard black praise more than blacks blazed
maybe if less mothers didn't have to to bury their sons
Then and only maybe then would I be able to write about something different, maybe then would I sleep at night, but probably not
Because whether racism is forward or passive it's still closer than you think
the amount of melanin in my skin is slim but it still runs deep
and because I'm mixed people like to think I'm being over dramatic or I'm making it up because
"I'm only half black so why would I get any back lash"
but it's not about that
full or half
To white people I'm still black
And to some people it's alarming that I have a dad
Yellow or brown
African blood still runs through my veins, I feel my queens weep
when the white girl in the suburban locks her doors when I cross the street
when black men say they would never date a black woman because she is loud and indiscreet
when four black boys in a Cobalt going the speed limit are pulled over and policed
one time I overheard someone say "it's time to get over slavery I mean I would own one too for what it's worth"  
This **** is the reason why I lose sleep
like every night this week
sometimes I feel my queens' tears down my cheek
she screams
as she is being penetrated by the patrol as her husband and children see
"just so you know whose in charge" he whispers as she weeps
and we should "get over it"
whipped and *****, beaten and dehumanized
3 centuries and they act like it was 3 days
And they like to say that so much has changed
just because we're not in chains
Yet we're restricted or ridiculed politically, socially and economically
we are
Emmet Till still
On our road to progression
A brown president and we are still considered an infection
We are still the threat
And they have disregarded their debt
This is the blissful ignorance I live with
And the growing terror my words attempt to change

The question that has arisen is:
What and how do we teach our black boys?
What is permissible for them to do in the eyes of the law or of a scared shooter?
Can they walk home from a convenient store?
Can they listen to rap music in the car with their friends?
Can they go to their bachelor party?
Can they whistle at a white woman?
Can they defend themselves?
These are the questions that we don't want to ask but we need to answer because young black men have become moving targets in America
We don't want to beg these questions in the black community because we don't to instill fear in our children but if not what shall we instill in them?
Because respect and toleration has only gotten them shot at
How quickly can a black man reach into his pocket?
Is he allowed to reach for his wallet or his hairbrush or a bag of skittles?
Do we have to teach the young males in our community the proper speed in which to make movement?
Being brown poses a threat in and of itself
And don't tell me that we have freedom
That time has passed and our nation is evolving, that racism doesn't exist
Racism is in the American culture
It is in the puritanical foundation that this country lies upon
It is the basis of the American economy
It is written in our constitution
It is all around us
Racism is so deeply embedded that white people have convinced us of our inferiority so much
That we've grown to hate ourselves
See when the foundation of a nation is racist
People of color grow to hate themselves and one another
Black on black crimes don't even make headlines
It's daily
It's called reversed racism
We know the threat we pose and we know what are fate will be if we don't comply or turn our music down or put our hands up quick enough or walk fast enough or slow enough
Young black men are forced to fear the law
Taught to hide from blue and white
Scared to be African before they can be proud to be an American
Nationality does not matter when the image that our nation is based is blonde hair and blue eyes
The hyphen -American in our ethnic title serves no purpose when we are not treated as such
We are black before we are American
We are black before we are brothers or fathers or uncles or cousins or friends
We are black before we are human beings
And We are thugs before we are able to explain ourselves
Our history and our culture is based on tragedy and oppression
The enlightenment of people of color can not be discussed because the plight of our community is still all too relevant
Young black men must know struggle before they can know success
Have to be informed before they can be children
Have to understand injustice before they know justice
Know What not to do's prior to to do's
Must hear the names Emmet Till, Rodney King, Amadou Diallo, Oscar Grant, Sean Bell, Trayvon Martin and Jordan Davis well before they hear
Barack Obama, Al Sharpton, Colin Powell, George Washington Carver, Harry Belafonte, and Michael Jordan
Warned before they are encouraged
Black before they are human.

feminism isn't just burn your bras and let your leg hair grow
it's standing up and recognizing that gender inequality exists
and we love to slip it under the rug because women are allowed to do things like rid themselves of unwanted pregnancies and
men expect that to be enough they expect that because we get control over our own bodies that we're equal
simple rights allotted to human beings are given to us and we're supposed to throw a ******* parade?
Pat Robertson said "the feminist agenda is not about equal rights for women. It is about a socialist, anti-family political movement that encourages women to leave their husbands, **** their children, practice witchcraft, destroy capitalism and become lesbians."
and what I don't get it is
how people pretend like this sexist ******* doesn't exist
I'm not saying all feminists are right
but I know for a fact all sexists are wrong
and I don't mean to go left but Just because I want to be able to have control over my own body and have equal opportunity in the work place and not have to wear makeup and do my hair and shave my legs does not mean that I'm an evil lesbian baby killing husband leaving capitalism destroying witch
I can promote women's rights and be a mother and a wife
you can promote women's rights and be a mother and a wife
and men who believe that feminists are just a bunch of ******* with hairy legs and heavy hearts are sadly mistaken
we as women carry a substantial undeniable and unbearable burden for being something that we didn't ask to be
I can't walk outta my house after dusk without praying that I don't get *****
I can't show skin because I'd be asking for it
I can't even mention *** without being a ****** *****
I can't walk into an interview without having to work twice as hard against male competitors
I can't cry without being needy and over emotional
I can't embrace the beauty that god gave me without makeup without being plain and low maintenance
I can't say that things aren't equal and that double standards are in place without being an evil lesbian baby killing husband leaving capitalism destroying witch
and you think things are fair?  
just because we've left the kids and the kitchen from 9-5 does not mean we've entered equality
because guess what we all personally know at least 5 mothers who go out and work just as hard and just as good as men do and still go home and take care of their children and their household
so basically men want a pat on the back for doubling the work load?
and I'm not a woman who does not recognize that there are double standards in place for men
they can't tell another man he looks good or be emotional or sensitive without being gay
what but men don't get is
I can't be alone on the street  without a whistle or a cat call
I would rather tolerate what they have to
women are forced to spend every waking moment outside of their homes worrying that they might get ***** or assaulted or drugged and ******* or brought into *** slavery
maybe I'm paranoid or maybe you just don't get that women are being ***** in their homes, teens are being roofied taken advantage of, and then slandered, 8 year old girls in Singapore are forced to have *** with multiple men a day or their families are murdered
don't you realize, the burden we are given just for having an extra X chromosome
men may be are stronger but women are
stonger
we carry worry and burden on our shoulders and still manage to be beautiful creatures
we are not just **** and ***
we are mothers  and daughters and nieces and cousins and sisters and lovers and friends and businesswomen and nurses and doctors and soldiers and lawyers and teachers
we've moved an inch with miles to go
in the great words of Malcolm X
"you don't stick a knife in a man's back 9 inches and then pull it out 6 inches and say you're making progress"
you don't let women in the workplace but not give them the same treatment as male employees and call that equality
I am black and I am a woman and whether whites or men
like it I refuse to stop fighting for not only feminism but for progression

she's always acting, acting like no one in particular, just anyone but her self that is. as long as she never seems vulnerable. never lets her guard down, never breaks down her wall, for no one, even if that means lying, conceiving and hurting the ones she love. she'd treat her emotions like buried treasure, lost deep in the depths of the sea, except no one could ever find them no, no not unless they took the time to love her but this life moves by so fast and the clock says I only have 15 minutes to ask you about your day, even though I don't really care. but, I really care. but how do I ask? how do I ask you about something I know nothing about?  Is that something everything, or as she always puts it "nothing"? How does one admit they know nothing about the one they love the most? the interchanging of question and detached teenage answer is pick your poison I guess. If it's not one thing it's another. but...I guess she'll never say that, or there's nothing for her to say. or maybe she and I have something in common...the senseless idea that by stuffing your own emotions deep down in the depths of nothingness that perhaps we are protecting the other person or just...just not causing any more problems..not stirring up any trouble. the moments we share make me feel..make me feel like I know enough or maybe the perfect amount or...what do I ask about ? she...she must think she's in the renaissance or something...cause she appears to be wearing a mask.. disguising who really lies underneath those dark brown eyes. and she seems happy? but then again She...She seemed healthy didn't She? and then...
But...but she..she's happy..she's moved on. She's always smiling right? all she does is crack jokes huh? but.... I don't know..those moments..those moments she gets real quiet and thinks no ones looking or no one knows but the way her eyes close and her breath gets heavy tells me that she has seen hurt well beyond her years. or maybe she's just tired..or stressed out. I always wonder but I never ask... observing her is pointless though isn't it...like trying out someone's taste while their  in a costume. in that moment you won't know...or in her case never know.
she costumes her soul never letting anyone see how beautifully ornamented it is and when it's plugged in she shines brighter than any corny pop song
she glows
but who knows?
does it show?
no, because she never let's any one in to see.
her heart is at the top of the castle except except theirs no Prince Charming or cute ogre on his way to rescue it.
there's not even a mom or a dad...or a "friend" willing to climb the mountain to put her broken life back together again like a puzzle with no picture to indicate what it's supposed to be like because nothing was ideal in the first place
...but it's fine
she says she's okay.
or just maybe no one sees..
maybe she just doesn't know who to be..
how do I know you ask?
that girl is me