By Emiria Henry
I may be black, but that’s not what I choose to identify myself as. NOT what you decided I should be. I may be black, but my soul is brighter than any star you could stand to see. When you close your eyes and reject my happiness and my everlasting glowing power, how could you see? How could you know who I am, who I choose to be?
The answer is you can, but you don’t. You could, but you won’t. And yet you have the audacity to judge me and decide I’m not good enough.
“She’s just a black girl. She doesn’t get it.”
And when I succeed, it’s “Who does she think she is?” and “Where did she learn how to speak properly?”
Well, sweetie, I have some news for you that you might not want to hear.
I don’t think; I know, so don’t get twisted.
You can wipe that surprised and horrified look off your face.
I chose to be black because it’s part of who I am. It’s how I walk, how I talk, and the reason I have respect for myself. It’s the reason I hold my head high and why I enunciate my words. I could be “ghetto” and disrespectful and disobedient, but there’s one problem: I refuse to let others prevent me from my blessing and my success. I don’t care what others think of me because if they’re talking about me and they’re jealous of me, well…then I must be doing something right.
I wouldn’t want to be white and racist because I want to be respected, not feared.
People don’t have to listen to what I have to say, I can preach to whoever listens. A crowd is unnecessary; one is enough to witness my revolution. When I need motivation, I can just turn to the mirror and say, “You are more than just black. You have a purpose in the world.”
I’m done with other people and their negativity. My wounds haven’t healed, but apparently these never-ending labels peel open, cut by cut.
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