They say Black is the absence of all color,
In reality it is that which encompasses all light.
Black is bouncy curls, chocolate skin, luscious lips,
And melanin that blankets my body like Saran Wrap.
Black is the epitome of excellence.
Our art is to be seen, our culture to be shared, our features
To be copy and pasted as desired
When their genes don’t comprise the genetics required.
It’s called Black beauty for a reason.
Our blood is shed.
Our bodies sacrificed.
Our girls objectified.
To be black in America is to be told your history is important
Yet to have the shortest month of year in which to celebrate.
Black lives matter changed to all lives matter,
you shapeshift to find the meaning you want to see,
blind to the real issues in front of your face,
That I seem to be the only person able to see.
To be called “White Washed” because your vocabulary is pristine.
To be called ghetto because you didn’t get the same breaks growing up
as them white folk.
To be black is to be padlocked to the generational trauma we inherit,
but choose to ignore.
To be black in America is to learn your place at a young age.
“Stay out of grown folk business”, “Do as I say, not as I do”.
To be black in America is to learn to be respectful.
“No sir, sorry sir” “No ma’am, sorry ma’am.”
To be black in America is to know I have rights.
A privilege bestowed upon me yet denied to my ancestors.
Right now I am “free”
But I don’t forget the blood shed for me,
The work done for me,
The tears wept for me,
The persecution met out for it.
They say there’s one race, the human race,
And I say that’s bullshit.
You do not get to erase my history as a means to pacify
those who can’t identify their own delinquency.
You don’t get to rewrite the pages in the history books,
or burn my chapters of the story to help a white man lie in his bed at night,
unburdened in his sleep like a princess without the pea.
This is my month
My life
My history
My chocolate brown skin isn’t a Hershey Kiss
To be forgotten in your back pocket.
To be Black is to be asked if your hair is real because
Everybody knows black girls don’t have long hair.
To be black and to be a woman is to have an enduring love affair with death
To be a black woman is to have the highest maternal mortality rate
In this country due to my alleged pain tolerance.
They talk about our aggression
That would never be so without being victim to the oppression,
Do you even desire me only as more than a possession
To be utilized to your convenience?
A stereotype to fit your means of a perfect society that
Bends to your needs and never breaks at the bottom of the pyramid.
To be black in America,
To be gunned down by the people supposed to protect you yet you fear most.
What am I?
Not subject to your prejudice.
I’m not doing this little game you wanna play.
What would you like for me to say?
To be black is to have learned to survive,
To be black in America is to learn to be comfortable being
The only mahogany-skinned person in the room full of ivory faces.
To be called a token, because you’re priceless.
To be black is to bear the burden of accountability for what
Was never your responsibility.
I am black but I am not to blame for your crime rate.
I am black but I am not your nigga.
I am black and no you may not touch my hair,
Because I am not your lap dog to be petted,
waiting to be praised for my obedience.
I am black and damn straight I got these bars,
Cause I ain’t come from Mars, I see the effect and know the cause.
Like my ancestors, I look to the stars while following the maps
Woven into my cornrows filled with the rice that nourishes my soul.
Save your applause
I’m not done.
I am black and I am angry at the injustices that follow me
to this day that adapted to hide
I am black but that’s not it
I don’t know what else I could say that would fit,
and give justice before I split, but I know,
I am Black in America.
I am black history.
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Nevaeh Gregory was one of three winners of the Schenectady High Black History Month poetry/essay contest.