Little Did I Know

I didn’t want to be Black.

In elementary school I was convinced it was a bad word. When someone referred to me as such, I corrected them saying “my skin is brown why would you call me Black?” not realizing the power I was neglecting. The tears and blood stained backs I was ignoring. I was convinced that Black meant ghetto. Black meant sassy, stupid, and rude. Black meant dirty, poor, and uncivilized.

My textbooks didn’t tell me about the people who came before me. Those who lost their lives and those who are still here today. Those who have been denied, spit on, beat up, and killed for having skin just like mine. Those who have been erased and replaced with fiction and half truths.

I didn't understand that everyone wanted to be me so badly they convinced me to give myself up. That if they couldn’t sport my full lips and swaying hips that I shouldn’t want to. While baking in the sun and rubbing on tanning lotion, they persuaded me to believe that my dark skin was a curse.

I was convinced that the last thing I wanted to be was Black. In class I was never taught that it meant educated, it meant classy, poised, strong, and beautiful. To be Black is to be resilient. Black is peaceful, warm and bold.

I make a statement with my smile. My skin has been kissed by the sun so I never burn. My hair has been twirled by the wind so It's never out of place. My voice has been sewed by the sea so it’s always smooth. To be Black is cocoa butter and shiny knees. It’s wide tooth combs and creaseless sneakers. It’s college degrees and presidential speeches. To be Black is to be breathtaking. To be Black is to defy all odds. I am the result of Claudette Colvin and Rosa Parks staying in their seats. I am the fight of Dr. King, Malcom X, and Marsha P Johnson. I am the writings of James Baldwin, Maya Angelou and Toni Morrison. I make a statement every time air leaves my lungs.

I didn’t want to be Black. Little did I know: Black is the best thing I can be.