They take my kindness for “weakness”.

They take my silence for “speechlessness”.

And they consider my uniqueness,

as “strange”.

And then, they call my dialect, my native tounge;

nothing but no good “slang”.

They see my confidence as “cocky and conceited”.

Every little mistake I make, 

is conceived as me being “defeated”.

They consider my success as “accidental”.

They belittle my intelligence;

yet say I have “potential”.

If I ask a question,

I appear “unaware”.

And somehow my advancement,

is declared “unfair”.

Any praise I receive,

is considered “special treatment”.

Yet me getting recognized in a positive manner,

isn’t always frequent.

I’m “defiant” if I’m separate.

I’m “fake” if I assimilate.

I’m an “over achiever”,

if I decide to participate.

Yet constantly for my good work,

I still face this brutal hate.

My character is constantly,

being attacked. 

Pride for my race,

makes me seem “too black”.

Yet I can only be me.

And who is that?

You may ask.

I am the reality of being a black woman.

And I look forward to the future,

and leave behind my past.