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.

Down With OPF?! Sharing Spaces with Other People's Friends

Image Provided by Black Twitter

My God-Sister Nici sent this meme to our friend-group chat in jest. Her added caption read:

“[I’m} in the middle and Dave is both Ye and Jay when I bring her around new folks.”

Yes. I, Davia, am known as “Dave” with these peeps. One day I’ll share the tale of how “Dave” (née “Big Dave”) was birthed.

Anywho! The meme was funny CAUSE IT’S TRUE! Sis has an uncanny ability to quickly find a friend in many people.

I, however, am more reserved.

I’m not standoffish, rude, or unpleasant.

I’m reserved.

And as much as the meme was a joke, it reminded me of how consistent I am as this reserved person. I’ve always had difficulty acclimating to shared-group spaces, especially ones where cliques are practiced at the nucleus. I’ve never been a clique-type lady. It was always difficult for me to operate in shared-group spaces without second-guessing whether or not I represented myself well.

Miscommunication and misrepresentation are the banes of my professional and personal existences.

In fact, shared group encounters (from networking events to extended familial gatherings) made me so uncomfortable afterwards I often had to decompress and recharge my batteries. The decompression recipe usually involved prayer, a whiskey neat, and a call to My Ma’am. My gifts, however, required that I showed up in shared spaces regularly. One day I’ll also share how God has guided me through various exercises to become not only more confident in my skin, but also using my voice.

But back to OPF and why we’re all here today. Sharing spaces with OPF (Other People’s Friends) is unavoidable especially when you have a desire (*insert calling, inclination, need) to participate in social settings. I’ve found that sharing spaces with OPF is more maneuverable (and even enjoyable) if I remember these 5 things:

1. SHOW UP AS MY WHOLE SELF. This means I operate as Davia; I do not “put on Davia” or “perform as Davia.”

2. OWN MY SPACE IN THE ROOM. This means I I give myself permission to take up space—with each step, smile, word and stop. I do not shrink into a corner or run from conversations.

3. SHARE SPACE AS APPLICABLE. This means I do not seek to be the center of attention. I honor where I am and why I’m there.

4. BE OPEN-MINDED. This means I create opportunities to learn from others and connect with others on a personal level. I’m present and available.

5. LEAVE WHEN I’M GOOD & READY. My Sir taught me early: always have your own way home. Amen.

How do you navigate shared spaces with OPF? Leave your thoughts below.

Thanks for reading!

Love,

Davia