Fragile Thoughts

What’s the first thing you see when you see me, Is it the way I’m dressed or the style of my hair, or is it the way I carry myself. in all honesty, most of you here listening to me right now probably don’t see any of these things, but i can tell you what you see. you see a girl, a black girl, a black girl with nappy hair (i need to get it done anyway), a black girl. that’s all most of you see. if confronted, the first thing you say to protect yourself is “I don’t see colour” well, you do and you can’t deny it. What do you think of when you think of black? Black is associated with sadness, darkness & uncleanliness. now imagine you having black as your skin tone, you’ll be seen as bad, incompetent and dirty. before I ask you a question, in your mind you’re already thinking “i’m not racist.” I walk into the room and your eyes hold me like I’m a suspect, but you’re not racist right? I do something good like I don’t know... get published, get scholarships or win awards and you subconsciously think “oh it was probably out of pity” or you are just so surprised as to how the black child won over the other ones. but you’re not racist right?

See, the real problem here is...

i care about everything but everything doesn’t care about me. i’m seen as a statistic, another number in the system, another gunshot mishap, another “brother,” another “sister,” another slave, just another nigger. no benefit of the doubt needed. as soon as i step out, i intimidate with my eloquence and cleanliness. but before i am given a chance to prove my worth, i am dehumanized to another stereotype. no push, all pull. of the gun from its chamber. aimed at me. all the assumptions clouding their very mind. in this moment, my life is over. i become another ‘could’ve been,’ another ‘had potential, another ‘good kid.’ i become another distant memory. not etched in like a carving knife, just passing through like a drive-by. it’s no problem. i’m just another black kid anyway, right?