I go to a school where
because of my skin color I’m trouble
because of my skin color I’m a minority
because of my skin color I’m a victim of “subtle” racism
because of my skin color ... I’m treated differently
I live in a society where
because of my skin color I'm paid less
because of my skin color I need to be more careful
because of my skin color … I’m a “****”
I live in a country where
because of my skin color I'm rude
because of my skin color I'm inferior
because of my skin color ugly
because of my skin color … Im not human
I live in a world where
because of my skin color my people were “animals”
because of my skin color my people were take and enslaved
because of my skin color my people stripped of their rights
because of my skin color my people .... weren’t even considered people
deny all you want it’s okay I know it’s all true it’s
because of my skin color...

BOO!
I’m sorry was that —
BOO!
OH pardon m—
BOO!
I’m sorry did I scare you?
but how …?
I simply walked into the room
I’m sorry, we’ve only made eye contact
and you're scared?
scared of what?
I’m not a phantom…
I’m not a spirit…
I’m not a gh —
wait… I get it
I see whats happening here
I’m black… i scared you because I'm black
you're scared of my skin color
you're scared of me so you clutch your bag as i walk by
you cross the street so you don't have to walk by me
you avoid eye contact
you kidnapped my people from our country and enslaved them
you kept us as property
you were scared of us so you made sure we stayed inferior
you instated segregation when you thought we would be free
when you thought we would come out on top you made sure we weren't equal
you made sure the black race was dehumanized
you made sure we couldn't get equal education
you made sure we couldn't drink from the same water fountains
you made sure the people who spoke out were executed
you made sure no matter what
my people were in constant fear for their lives…
no I am neither a ghost nor a ghoul
Im black
BOO!
i scared you because I'm black

Yea of course,
I,
me,
a woman,
a black woman
a darker black woman to be exact..
have black privilege because thats a thing you know
Its like when I walk into the store and get followed ..  yea
or that time i came back to school with my “extensions” and was told my hair grows fast
or maybe its when a white person comes up to me asking if i listen to 21 savage because “black people listen to rap right?”
or my favorite is telling my brother to be safe
as he heads out the door worrying he may be shot for reaching for his wallet
maybe its when i worry about whether or not my brother or cousins or father will be the next Trayvon martin or Eric garner or philando castille even
my black privilege
has allowed me to be labeled as loud and ratchet and sometimes a ***
because that what dark skin black girls are
right ..
yea ….
thats black privilege
its getting told I'm pretty for a black girl
its being told I'm intimidating and mean and ugly natured
but no no i swear its not cause your black
I love black people I'm not racist
Slavery happened years ago
Black people are racist too
im not racist i just don't like black people  
yea … I've heard it all.
No !
im not just another “angry black girl”
Im just a black girl
Im not mad don't get me wrong
I just wanted to inform you on my black privilege
I wanted to inform you that it is NOT okay to touch my hair
that is NOT  okay to say to mock “black slang”
It is not okay to say “are you speaking english” when i talk
It is not okay to put my people through hundreds of years of slavery and oppression and systemic racism and TELL US TO GET OVER IT!
Im sorry excuse my tone of voice
but can you blame me for getting worked up when I have to worry about whether or not my people will come home at night
yea …
thats MY black privilege

I speak
in black and
white —

I think
in color.

I see the boy I used to be
not in a dream but on the street.

He walks alone without a beat
or rhythm in his feet.

He kicks a stone.
His mobile phone is glued to his cheek.

He seems the very model of
a troubled teenage tearaway.

Nothings lead to nothings, lead
to nothing honest he can say.

He knows what others think he is
and he’s terrified.

He thinks enough to know that he was
born lost.

He doesn’t toil his wits,
unwind a coil of ignorance
or dabble in some dissonance.

He speaks with recycled bits
of other people’s words.

He likes to quote celebrities
who like to speak in major keys,
who comfort him like family
and apathy.

He knows their faces
better than his own.

He remains featureless
but will cast the first stone.

I didn't die
Why am I still so angry about that?