My Blackness Deserves No Explanation

By: Elise R. Sampson

Hey America—
Do me a favor
Don’t ask me to explain my blackness.
Not my hair,
Not my skin,
Not my intelligence nor anything else that comes from within.
Within this skin.
Beautiful brown pecan with a kiss from the summer sun
Pale as the wood lining my kitchen cabinets when the summer’s gone
I love myself but you don’t want to see me happy
Much like that ex that I no longer miss
yet he still calls…
Each one after him reminds me that my decision making is still flawed,
maybe even more than it was before him
Or maybe it’s the beautiful black men on my timeline paired with foreign women and cars that makes me feel null
Despite the trickery that social media and propaganda might try to play on me
Maya Angelou’s “Still I rise”, gives me strength when I look at these thighs or my big, round, deep brown eyes. As beautiful as my Black is, has Black become synonymous with demise?
Is my Blackness something I should hide?

I’m living scared,
Fighting everyday not to piss off some emasculated, white fool with a gun and badge or a Becky who absolutely will not shop in the same establishments as a nigger gal.
I pray and tithe
I pay taxes
I vote in every election
I attend city council and school board meetings
I donate to Black Lives Matter
I paint murals til my hands bleed
I’ve educated peers and professors on why our hair is different
I make sure to use my white girl voice on the phone
I tell my nieces and nephews that they are beautiful in their Black skin
I post novels about injustice on my timeline til I’m blue in the face, and no matter how Black I project myself to be, everyday I wake up to nooses, gunshots, knees on necks, unlawful search and seizures, murderers maintaining their jobs and no charges being filed.
Where is the change Sam Cooke told us was coming?

I just knew that if I prayed a little harder, went to that rally, made myself a token Black girl in college and at my job then the murders would cease.
Surely there are millions of Black girls and boys just like me!
We don’t walk around causing trouble but we know who and whose we are, you know the type.
Is there no further contribution that I can make to ease this worldly pain?

Too many questions remain unanswered.

While there is no ETA on the true reparations of “America’s original sin”, I stand tall knowing that my Blackness is dope, she’s stunning, unparalleled, unforgettable, a vision crafted by God himself and she stands out where you would fit in.
So America, do me a favor…
Don’t ask me about my blackness or the black experience because the truth is that you don’t really want to hear it.

Pros and Cons

By: Slim da Reazon

I read the mind and heard the thoughts of a racist the other day.

Through the white noise

And distortion this is what I heard his mind say:

"Those good for nothing niggers are nothing but trouble.

Only good for dunking basketballs and being in football huddles."

I was befuddled.

Bemused and confused and mildly amused at how he had it misconstrued.

Although, you could argue that it was true. 

Because at that very time, I was engaged in criminal activity.

Trespassing on his private thoughts,

Eavesdropping on his bigotry.

Now clearly this caveman didn't know his history.

Because if you look at antiquity 

You can see these past couple of centuries don't mean sh*t to me.

But now, the malevolent benefactor of malice

Sits callously before me

Saying I can only be a pro athlete or a convict.

You know… a pro or con.

Ha! 

I flatly refuse to believe it.

I'm collegiately educated with such a high IQ

I can enlighten you or spite you with a haiku.

God as my witness, my sister's a forensic chemist,

I learned the music business, 

and the eldest of us three will be a Ph. D.

We're so much more than a minority

Consumed with THC and apathy.

See, I never doubled dribbled, I just double majored.

I never took the pitchers mound in the final round against a rival

Because the only thing I ever aced was my final.

I never pulled up with the game tied and drained a three.

But I am a source of family pride as the first male to attain a degree.

I never rushed for a first down or even kicked a field goal.

But whenever I wrote a verse down, yes indeed, I healed souls.

Yet you see me as only a pro athlete or stereotyped convict.

Or maybe a little bit of both, kind of like Mike Vick.

But my lineage denotes nobility, for I am royalty.

Like Tenkamenin upon the throne of Ghana before the Almoravids hit in 1076.

Like Mansa Musa of Mali making his hajj to Mecca in 1324, 

bestowing millions in gold to impoverished masses.

Like King Sonni Ali of the Songhay, recapturing Timbuktu in 1469,

preserving medicinal papyri at the University of Sankore.

I am master of the Egyptian Mystery School and Teacher to the Greeks.

I am Balance in the West; The Tao in the East.

I am more than an orange jumpsuit or a jumpshot in a sports jersey.

I am the Alpha and the Omega,

The Black Beginning.

The Ebony Eternity.