"I'm black and I'm proud" I would shout as a little girl to my father
and he'd smile, without chains, without worry, he'd smile.
The first time I was ashamed of my black I was 11
with hair thicker than the blood of all the men who died just so I could grow one lock
I cut it all off when I was thirteen
it took me 1,826 and some days to realize what I had lost.
"I'm black and I'm proud" I whisper to myself so loudly sometimes I think my eardrums might bleed.
"I'm black and I'm proud" I mumble just to remind myself where I come from.
"I'm black and I'm proud" I state sometimes just for the sake of hearing it.
"I'm black and I'm proud" I yelled when the first black man was elected as president.
"I'm black and I'm proud" and I never had to worry about what that meant to me.
White mother, black father. Mulatto. Mixed breed. Female.
I never had to worry about what "I'm black and I'm proud" meant to me.
But what about the black boys? With skin darker than dried blood, browner than mud.
What about the black boys? Whose "I'm black and I'm proud" is engraved into their flesh, the moment they come out.
What about they black boys.
I have never left my home and feared for my life
but what about the black boys?
Trayvon Martin. Eric Garner. Michael Brown. Otis Byrd. Walter Scott. Tamir Rice. Jason Harrison. Rumain Brisbon.
I have the liberty of screaming, at the top of my lungs, "I'm black and I'm proud"
but what about the black boys?