the amount of melanin in my skin often seems to conjure up some controversy so when I sit down to write and I see my hands, my light skinned not quite black but surely not white hands I think about the privileges thrusted upon me and when I begin to write I feel my hair against my back, my curly ***** but not quite ***** hair I wonder how what's on my head could make what's in it so frazzled
I often frustrate myself because I feel like my writing often centers around the fact that I am a woman and I am colored
and the fact that when I say I'm colored some look lost
in fact, in the film, for colored girls
Thandie Newton's character says "being alive and being a woman is all I got, but being colored is a metaphysical dilemma I haven't conquered yet."
and I found it frightening how relatable that was to me, being that I'm not quite almost a woman and not quite almost colored
but when I look at my poems they reflect that I indeed am
even though I'm lightskinned and I'm 16 and according to my white friends I'm, just like them because, as I've discovered our definitions of what a black girl sounds like and acts like and is like are extremely different
and I guess that reflects on who we've been introduced to
I have cousins and aunts and grandmothers and sisters
who represent what I believe emulate what a black woman is
and these white kids see what the media feeds about how black women walk and talk and act and lack
see when I picture a black woman I see beautiful smooth chocolate skin full lips round ******* wide hips and a smile as brilliant as her mind
when these kids picture a black woman they see ***** hair dark undesirable skin soup cooler lips and a mind filled with ignorance
and this is where my struggle begins
But in every ethnic group there is good and bad
and I am sick of black women only being associated with the bad
the fact that when most non blacks think of what a black woman is, they imagine an unintelligible mindless sassy loud mouth is over whelming to me
if you're skin isn't light enough or your behind isn't big enough you're only "pretty for a black girl"
I not only want to raise but destroy all expectations society gives black women
but I cannot do this alone
because we are smart and we are beautiful
we are troubled and we are strong
and we are one
once we stop tearing eachother down we can all be one
and I'm not sure why god blessed black women with so much beauty or why I'm so blessed to be one or why he put this determination in me but I think I will recognize it the day the world recognizes how beautiful are we.

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

you strive for perfection
gotta be the smartest
gotta be the best
A's and B's are the only grades your eyes will view
you, check your Parentlink religiously
20 hour days in attempts to prove something to someone who probably doesn't care
no social life, no
your best friends are Microsoft word and flash card apps
a boyfriend?
why of course his first name is no, last name homework... but ever so often you cheat on him with a good nights sleep
a good nights sleep that replaces the memories you're supposed to be making
the high school years you're supposed to be enjoying
late nights partying?
more like late nights cramming
Saturday matinees ?
more like Saturday SAT prep
and when you finally cross the finish line and get your diploma it all settles
it all settles in that no one cares
you go to college and there's a campus full just like you
a bunch of high gpa's and low social lives
and you still have yet to realize you're just a factory worker in training
you treat college just like high school
a 21 year old unemployed ****** with expectations that have just been kicked in the stomach
nose in the books as apposed to the sky
no dreams just harsh realities
it all marinates with you mentally that you just studied a complete 8 years of your life away when you become a nothing but a statistic
no longer the best
no longer the smartest
an average salary
an average job
and an average life
with no memories to reminisce on
no crazy college stories to tell your boring spouse
no cute high school sweetheart stories to tell your boring kids  
and now all you have is emptiness and a cubicle
because while preparing for your future you lost sight of the present
in attempts to be a young adult you forgot to be a teenager
you climbed uphill mountains to live the middle class life you avoided and now you're just hoping that someone will take you seriously when you put "Honor Roll student" and "passed Calculus" in your obituary because other then reproducing a couple more pencil pushers you've accomplished nothing
and no, no I'm not pessimist I take things for what they are
and living unfulfilled, or having no "yolo" moments in your life is not something that should be taken lightly
we, break our backs and blister our hands to end up making 30 thousand dollars a year  
and for what
to be another functioning member of society
did you ever have dreams?
or did practicality and necessity beat those useless obliterating hopes?
the only momentos you have from your wild years is your diplomas and your regrets
there is no praise for the high school student who partied away their future
but next to alien species finding a healthy balance is the least known thing to man
so
live fully, live honestly, shine brightly, fulfill every hope, fill every crack, fold every crease attempt every dream, leave your doors open, for someone less fortunate then you couldn't unlock one if they got a miracle
life slows down for no one.
don't forget to take a moment, to stop and smell the roses.

being mixed is the least of my  
problems,  but it's an issue never recognized all anyone ever thinks is how great it must be. how great it is to have  light skin and have good hair and to be "ethnic" but they never realize that behind these brown eyes is a person. a person who doesn't know who they are cause they've been asked what they are too many times. a person who has put themselves in a box, limited to one race because they're afraid of being called fake. all for being themselves, who ever that is. if I act this I'm not enough this, it's hard enough being bi racial but deciding who to act like is the hardest  part. having to check one in the race box when you're really four having to repeat what you are to people so much that you just stop answering. just say yes to every question to make them go away. judging you like the color of your skin really matters. I thought we resolved this idiotic issue  over a half century ago when African Americans united to find equal ground and now the same group of people are tearing each other down based completely on the same ridiculous idea of pigment. hearing "she's not black enough" "you're too light" "shut up you can't say that you're just mixed"  because the n word is surely something only said by purebred black people and because I'm tall with a big **** I must be black but I'm pale on a scale of one to Akon so their must be white somewhere but where did those hips and those rolled R's come from she just might be Hispanic and in fact so my story is not a cliff hanger as if you care and I can't believe that this is what we fought for. the idea of equality in the black community  is being destroyed by ignorance and misplaced hatred towards ourselves. So if I'm being told through history books that we won this battle in the 60's then I'm wondering why are we still fighting ? When  we were kids it was all well and fine cause we all spoke the same strange optimistic language of curiosity but now I can't hang out with the people I grew up with that I promised to never grow apart from because somehow the language we both once spoke evolved differently over time. And now I'm stuck up because  I was taught there's a time and place for everything. Including speaking like you have an education and speaking with people your comfortable with. stop asking me what I am like it's who I am don't take the light skin and the intelligence for a weakness. I don't think I'm a chola cause a few of my friends are Mexican my name does not have an "esha" or "niqua" at the end of it cause I play basketball and I don't want to be  white because I sound intelligible so next time you ask me if my hair's a weave or where I grew up or if my mom's white as if by you knowing my racial backgrounds you may actually know a speck about who Ciarra is and  Even if I answer these questions you still don't know me. so next time you speak spanish at me or you try to ask me what I am like it's my life story. remember ignorance isn't bliss.

I'm no teen mom enthusiast and am light years ahead of her existence but if I, were to ever have a child
she would be everything like me
but her experiences would be nothing like mine
she will have two parents under one roof, who love each other more than the stars love to kiss the sky
She will know nothing of divorce or step somethings or mom or dads new lover
because her parents will love nothing more than each other
Besides her
and she will be reminded of this daily
not just in actions but in words
and three words, that she will know nothing of are
sadness, stress and struggle
three words that frequent my lips so much that they forget how to rise for a smile
and my baby will be aware that she was conceived with intentions that's right
even if she won't want to
and I will be nothing but honest with her
except what is not meant for her ears
because I know what it's like to acquire knowledge and wisdom well beyond your years
and I will thank God Allah and anyone else whose willing to take credit for each year that she becomes more lovely
and she will know that I've cherished every moment of her growth
even when she transitioned from peanut
to peanut with limbs
and as her life sprouts from my body and my belly begins to grow I will sing to her
and let her know that she'll never have to worry not a moment of her existence
her father and I, will kiss the ground she walks on
because we will know that this kind of love doesn't come every other weekend
and neither does a child to 2 loving parents
she will be wanted and appreciated equally and immensely
when I hug her I want her to feel the way my lungs capture air
as if savoring the fact that she does too
when she lays on my chest I want her to hear my heartbeat and recognize that it does so for her
and that every waking moment with her prescience is held precious and special
and when she feels my kiss on her forehead I want her to feel the immeasurable space she fills within me
as if knowing that a hole has existed for her there as long as I have been alive
I will love everything about her, even the stuff I'll hate
and
the lack of sleep, ***** diapers, and eventually teenage sarcasm
will mean more to me than anything God could ever create
her existence will become my everything
because the very thought of it already is
and everything that I will do, I will do so in thought of her
every move I make and gasp of air that I take will simply ensure that she and her family will always be alright
I will teach her more than 13 years of school ever will
although if she ever needs math help I'm probably not the one to ask
I will teach her that being a woman wont be easy, but sometimes neither will being alive
I will teach her that sometimes life will knock you down, and when you think you're ready to get back up sadness will be there with open arms ready to sock you in the stomach
but before she even thinks of feeling alone or misunderstood
I want her to know that my existence persists to make her happy
because baby I've been there
in fact I've been there so much that I can comp a buffet or 2
she will know that nothing worth having comes easy
and nothing that comes easy is worth having
and that her mother may not know a lot of practical or day to day information
but can recite more poetry and lyrics than any other mom on the block
and has more love than all of the other mothers combined
because she has had so much love to share, but no one to give it to
she will know that sometimes this world is cruel and cold, but often ever so warm
and I will teach her to never confuse the two temperatures because deceit is nothing but a wolf in sheep's clothing
ready for you to pet it so it can bite
and that's just life
and I realize I cannot prevent her from ever feeling hurt
but I'll sure as hell try
she will grow to understand that her mother can be brash and outspoken, because
keeping quiet about injustice is not only incomprehensible, but virtually impossible
but so is speaking without considerable thought
my daughter will have anything and everything she wants,
as long as she deserves it
and  the thought of lack of funds will never exist
she will understand the struggle and dynamic of poverty
but will never know it firsthand
every move she makes I will try and watch even if that is also impossible
but she will also grow to understand that even though her momma is worrier, she is also a warrior
and that her poppa is always there to remind his daughter that although not everyone is worth saving,
she and her momma are
my baby will know that if she ever falls that her parents will be there arms out wide
ready to catch her
because no matter what she's done
we're here with nothing but love
and no matter how many fictional vampires or celebrities she falls I love with,
she will know that no ones skin radiates with love for her,
more than her mothers
and before she ever feels worthless or not good enough I well let her know,
that she is everything and more to her mother
if that means anything
and if it doesn't I will let her know that she is the descendant of a woman who has felt so helplessly lost in the ocean of her own depth
and that woman is the descendant of two parents who love her but may not 've known how to love her properly
so before she ever sheds a tear or becomes weak I will let her know that I've done enough of that for the both of us
and that there will be days that all feel like Monday morning
but if I can make it through she can too
and she will know that she is the daughter of two incredible parents,
who love nothing more than each other
besides her

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.

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

Sometimes in the darkness when I'm doing my nightly cries
I think about that day
that you passed away
and then I'm saddened because I can't recall our last words
and then I'm saddened even more because no one's ever told me yours.
I often shed the most tears
because you were the main person supporting me through all these years
constantly asking me and wanting to know about school
I smile, then I think..I don't remember the last time I told you I loved you.
I was once told that the only way out is through
but I don't know how to get myself to stop missing you.
every reminder of your presence brings on a memory and every memory brings out the tears
but I'm ready to switch gears
almost a year later and it still hurts and I'm not sure how to feel
my soul is torn and I'm not sure how to heal
you were apart of me and you will always will be
I always imagine that moment when dad told you "her name is gonna be Ciarra Renee, the middle one like yours see"
when I fill out forms or have to say my middle name
I'm constantly reminded that you're probably the reason I'm a little bit insane
and also that you are an inspiration to me & didn't die in vain
all these things because of you, I was blessed enough to gain
I wish I could've repaid you
or express to you how much I appreciate you
God or someone must really love me, to give you to us for a whole 6 decades..
and no matter how long you're gone, your memory will never fade.
tears in my eyes as I write this, I wonder how proud you would be of my grades
I hope you all hear the strength I'm my voice, when I say
that sometimes I'm not okay, and that's okay
because,
I miss your warmth, more than a baby misses it's mothers..like a niece misses her favorite aunts
to have you back I would put aside my desires and my wants
but as the universe loves to remind me every birthday holiday or live event, you're not
so before i repress my
Feelings and tell myself to stop
I want you to know if you're out there that I love you more than the sea loves to kiss the shorline
and that to me you did not die
*but just became a greater part of me.

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

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