I wonder what would happen if WE. BOUNCE. BACK
Like the elasticity of elastic bands being stretched by heavy hands
Lassoing nappy strands running amuck like wild stallions
We, are wild ones
Like ravenous wolves we feed off of each other
We are course as ringlets colliding creating thunderclaps
Unable to be permeated by the teeth of my rattail comb
Our mentality is kinky and dying of thirst like un-watered roots gasping for precipitation
Aching to be touched like fingertips cascading over rough, dry, untrodden scalp
We have been systematically changed
Psychologically arranged
Culturally estranged
Like house Negroes and uncle Toms who have forgotten where they came from
And shortchanged out of our education
From segregation
To discrimination
To the manipulation of our history
Our ethnicity is fleeting like wild roses withered by erosion
And left blowing in the wind
This predisposition to believe that we are inadequate based on the color of our skin is an albatross draped off of collarbones like present-day lynching
With their reprogramming and conditioning they’ll make you believe that there is something wrong with pigments too vibrant to be silent
My melanin screams like a crescendo of a 1920s jazz band
My melanin screams like bullhorn voices aimed at revolution
Like clenched fists aimed for Heaven showing everyone that WE. ARE. HERE!
My melanin screams like underground poets exchanging lyrics with the wind on the streets of Atlanta
I am unapologetically black
Black as ebony skin kissed by a brazen sun
Black as the heavenly blanket of an Egypt night
Black as the womb of the African continent in its first trimester
Black as the Raven’s wing outstretched and ready to take flight
Does it offend you that I wear my crown like others wear diamonds around their necks?
It was passed down to me
By men and women who were regal
And I believe, fiercely
That we are more than what we have been reduced to
I’ve dreamt of African Queens like children dream of princesses and in my dreams we were intertwined with the soul of Nefertiti like Egyptian lace
Perfectly threaded
No stitch exposed
And we were royal.
By Alyssa Briana Gant


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