#Poem: My Children Will Be Black

My children will grow up loving

their hair

with its voluminous curls and kinky strands

My children will grow up accepting

their thick lips and wide hips

regardless of whether the media deems them beautiful

My children will grow up knowing

the countries in Africa and

remembering

that matriarchal societies once reigned supreme

My children will grow up responding

that they are from the United States of America

every time someone asks…and asks again in disbelief

My children will grow up understanding

that they shouldn’t walk down the street with their hands in their pockets

that they cannot approach the police for help at night

that they should never enter a store wearing a trench coat

even if it’s cold and rainy outside

My children will grow up worshiping

our Lord (swt)

not some eurocentric, idolatrous image of Him (swt)

My children will grow up hearing

that they are the embodiment of excellence

even if their teachers and classmates think otherwise

My children will grow up juggling

the complexities of an identity that is at once magnificent and ever so unfortunate

My children will grow up resisting

the systems meant to “keep them in their place”

My children will grow up uniting

themselves along lines of justice

My children

will be Black.

 

#Poem: My Children Will Be Black

This Poem Isn’t About Race -OR- Sarabi’s Manifesto

Take.

Take. Take. Take.

They took from us and called it giving

And told us to be glad we were still living

They took our cultures and gave them class

They took our religions and said they saved our a—

They took our languages and called it education

They took our names and called it social foundation

They took our stuff then started to race

Then got upset when we couldn’t keep pace

Now it’s our fault, we’re to blame

Because we failed to win their game

They dumped our chocolate bodies into the pot

Piled high, tempers boiling hot

They dumped our chocolate bodies in-

-to one big hot garbage bin

Then they went and dumped in sugar

Ta sweetin’ us up an’ mek us taste gooder

 

Well hun, this chocolate ain’t burnt

That I know

And it don’t take the Bible to tell me so

All that’s left is for me to be

Truly, wholly, sincerely, unapologetically me

This Poem Isn’t About Race -OR- Sarabi’s Manifesto