Feb 2016
You’re treading water, tantalizing your audience as they watch you sink deeper and deeper into the ocean. They want you to fail as your vision blurs and your limbs shrivel with exhaustion. You watch their pale faces with painted on smiles and take one last breath as you plunge into oblivion.
But I don’t want you to go like that.
I want to give you iridescent pearls so that when you take your last breath you feel beautiful and hold that breath in your heart until your posture becomes so confident that you finally know your worth. I want you to believe that a white washed world isn't a “right” one but instead one that has become accepted by the same society that told you 245 years ago that you were property and your purpose in life was to serve those without melanin in their skin but steel in their hearts. And the only difference between being branded by your slave owner is that now you pay $250 for that brand new pair of Jordans and participate in a sport where your leaders more often than not refuse to respect you as an individual but instead as a number followed by a k that can make them rich and you in pain.
But you will succeed and no one will ever pierce your ebony skin because I promise you, I promise you that you are a speck of galaxy in world of pure Crayola. You are brown, intelligent, and tall in a generation of ignorance of the fact that Michael Jackson wasn't trying to communicate to a certain race but instead a feeling but we associate everything with race. When I am emotional I tend to not make sense but the thing is that YOU make sense so hold the microphone and speak to the world and one day instead of Martin Luther King being a memorial it will just be. To be.
The only thing that scares me is that your night terrors tend to take place in front of mirrors where I cant protect you from shards of glass breaking your skin and tearing your self esteem apart. And when you walk on graduation day and a white male hands you your diploma say thank you with your mouth and I made it with your eyes and then turn to your mom and hug her because in two years as you walk down the street in a dress suit and nice shoes instead of Jordans you realize that most of communication between the white male is non-verbal and all he's saying is, “get out” “you do NOT belong”. They think it’s appropriate to act this way because the howl of your skin breeds intimidation and it is sadly accepted to just shoot
— you
not that it matters anyway
in this moment I want you to remember when you were seven years old and you rubbed white lotion into your knees thinking it would make your skin lighter your life lighter your problem lighter. It didn’t. Hold your head high for that seven year old now 27 year old brown child.
And one day you will be happy because you are happy when you are loved. So many in this world neglect you but love your culture. Each year you complain about your routine becoming routine but go ahead and cry about your life because I know the zest in your tears reminds you of your Grandfathers cologne. And I want you to start over, say hello to yourself. Take a step back and bask in your beauty because that is you and you are close to perfect. You can be magic.
Touch the heart of the world and make it smile. Marry a moonbeam and hear the stars sing and don’t let the monsters in your head ruin your dreams. And the people who don’t want you to succeed you need to destroy them in the most beautiful way possible. And when you leave them for something greater they will finally understand why storms are named after people.
But I don’t want you to go like that.
I want to give you iridescent pearls so that when you take your last breath you feel beautiful and hold that breath in your heart until your posture becomes so confident that you finally know your worth. I want you to believe that a white washed world isn't a “right” one but instead one that has become accepted by the same society that told you 245 years ago that you were property and your purpose in life was to serve those without melanin in their skin but steel in their hearts. And the only difference between being branded by your slave owner is that now you pay $250 for that brand new pair of Jordans and participate in a sport where your leaders more often than not refuse to respect you as an individual but instead as a number followed by a k that can make them rich and you in pain.
But you will succeed and no one will ever pierce your ebony skin because I promise you, I promise you that you are a speck of galaxy in world of pure Crayola. You are brown, intelligent, and tall in a generation of ignorance of the fact that Michael Jackson wasn't trying to communicate to a certain race but instead a feeling but we associate everything with race. When I am emotional I tend to not make sense but the thing is that YOU make sense so hold the microphone and speak to the world and one day instead of Martin Luther King being a memorial it will just be. To be.
The only thing that scares me is that your night terrors tend to take place in front of mirrors where I cant protect you from shards of glass breaking your skin and tearing your self esteem apart. And when you walk on graduation day and a white male hands you your diploma say thank you with your mouth and I made it with your eyes and then turn to your mom and hug her because in two years as you walk down the street in a dress suit and nice shoes instead of Jordans you realize that most of communication between the white male is non-verbal and all he's saying is, “get out” “you do NOT belong”. They think it’s appropriate to act this way because the howl of your skin breeds intimidation and it is sadly accepted to just shoot
— you
not that it matters anyway
in this moment I want you to remember when you were seven years old and you rubbed white lotion into your knees thinking it would make your skin lighter your life lighter your problem lighter. It didn’t. Hold your head high for that seven year old now 27 year old brown child.
And one day you will be happy because you are happy when you are loved. So many in this world neglect you but love your culture. Each year you complain about your routine becoming routine but go ahead and cry about your life because I know the zest in your tears reminds you of your Grandfathers cologne. And I want you to start over, say hello to yourself. Take a step back and bask in your beauty because that is you and you are close to perfect. You can be magic.
Touch the heart of the world and make it smile. Marry a moonbeam and hear the stars sing and don’t let the monsters in your head ruin your dreams. And the people who don’t want you to succeed you need to destroy them in the most beautiful way possible. And when you leave them for something greater they will finally understand why storms are named after people.
