Over the past several months I’ve spent a fair deal of time thinking about how my ‘blackness’ effects how other people see and treat me as well as how it effects my actions, my attitude and my over all perception of myself. This is a poem I wrote about it to go along with my last post:
“You’re not even black”
They say with subtle relief,
They find my people deplorable
But accept my friendship with lief.
I am judged because of my tattoos.
More so as a black male.
I am frowned upon for flirting
With girls whose skin is pale.
Why do you seem so shocked
That I don’t speak with slang,
That I’m bad at basketball,
Or belong to a posse/crew/gang?
I’m offended because as black man
I supposedly love chicken.
When there isn’t a damn omnivore
Who feels any different.
It’s funny how “acting” my skin color
Is automatically comical
But when black people do it
It’s suddenly abominable.
So because I’m black
You think that I’m likely to steal?
You say it as a joke
But how do you think it makes me feel?
Why is it such a shock
That I enjoy works by Bach?
Who says I must be limited
To Soulja Boy and 2Pac?
As a black man it upsets me
How many times “nigga” is heard.
Carelessly whipped around.
As if it were “just” a word.
A word is something more
Than some sounds you say,
When it’s used as an excuse
To take one’s humanity away.
An “a” or an “er”
Don’t make the roots different.
“My nigga” shouldn’t make you feel endeared.
It should make you feel indignant.
Though not usually said with hate
It still reeks of degradation.
Now everyone can say nigga!
Congrats, we’ve ended segregation.
I rarely bring it up.
It’s just become the norm.
Racism hasn’t gone away
It’s taken on a different form.
But you’re not racist you tell me:
“I have a friend that’s black”.
But, if you didn’t know them
Would it change the way you think and act?