To my son,  allow me to begin by saying sorry for what I've allowed you to become, an educated black man is a gift as well as curse . you are the epitome of double edged sword--. you are the nightmare on elm street that wont allow me to sleep another night. Thank god I didn't name you freddy. I've seen others like you, the ones who don't make it back before dawn. you have become the most dangerous game on this island of jealousy and sin. you are my son a charcoal shade of chocolate and although I understand your skin --struggle, others may not be able to speak your body language. although this is America and I've taught you to use your voice --policeman will only hear gunshots in your vocal chords, the bullet proof vest of your intuition will never be thick enough to save you from the piercing blows of their batons and your cries for help will only sound like booming thunder to men who have become accustomed to the sound of rain. so baby let it rain, and enjoy your time to reign ..let your voice stretch over mountaintops , let the roar of the king inside you burst free and although you are a fighter only put your hands up to protect your face, you cant afford to swing back because if they swing back you caused the attack and I cant have that. cant have these people judging you for only doing what was taught. cant have these people making you another black boy on the news. allow me to apologize for my selfish endeavors and in doing so only helped deliver the back lash you must endure. I once made myself believe that your father could be anything but black because a black man as a father was unlikely . not for the stereotypical reasons that boys from the hood showed you but for the Treyvon martins and mike browns of the U.S.  he might not come back one day GRAMMER LESSON  because as we speak the blood of a black boy lays in the street it does not lie.. the truth is a hard pill to swallow and yet here we are..no amount of asphault ivory will ever make my shade of black surrender to the bleached white you are. because in truth your yellow is only my denial..  you are a night sky with the stars in your eyes and a kingdom beneath your feet. you are a king with a crown of wooly curls whose ebony is so rich I am reminded that the diamonds in your eyes were made my the coal of your flesh. my son, you are wise well beyond your years, strong and gentle but your black is that retched stain that the lining of my uterus wall could not rub away. You were a frisky thing, small and lively ready to burst free from the bloody darkness you had come to know and love. although you have grown in a world with many colors and a sun in the sky you seem to be haunted by the bloody darkness that is your heritage.  that is, my heritage.