They take my kindness for “weakness”.
They take my silence for “speechlessness”.
And they consider my uniqueness,
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,
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.