Getting named called from my own fucking community is hard.
Laugh at me
For my black shade
For my black hair
For my black face
Can’t you see it’s such a shame.
Back when I was in fifth grade
Took up the place of my name
Though the students looked just like me.
My shade goes deeper.
My roots so much closer with my parents coming by plane.
Then our ancestors coming by ships.
So, I was called
Though I’ve known nothing more than the ten block perimeter of my crumbling apartment
And I can’t even speak in my parents’ native tongue
I was still less.
Further from the desired angel face.
I told my mother of my discomfort
And she granted me a magic cream
That scrubbed away my identity
Skin lightening cream
I told mother of my discomfort
And she granted me a magic wand
That smoothed away my identity
Hot hair straightener
No one told me
I don’t need magic things
I was an angel of God’s creation.
Hair that could defy gravity and stretch towards the heavens
Skin that would shine and glow in the holy sun
No one told me
I was magic
Only told that the bright and white could be angels.
So I hid myself in the darkest clothes I could find
See that my skin isn’t as dark as it seems.
So I hid myself in order to live in the shadows and no one could harass me with
“Your the darkest one in the room”
“Africans are all savages and barbarians”
“(clicks and clucks) Am I speaking your language?”
“Do it slave”
“Rat. Raven. Crow.”
Well we’re the ones always being tested on and plagued by ignorance and hatred
Well we live lives midnight dreary forced to ponder weak and weary
Well if there is a crowd of us, there’s bound to be a murder. Am I wrong?
In all of these I put a presence of ‘we’
Yet those names were told to me by my own community.
It seems that no one wants to look like me.
So thinking I’m an angel?
Feeling like magic?
I’m still struggling to love
My black shade
My black hair
My black face
When I’m rejected by the ones who look the closest to me.
I’m rejected by my own community.