My Black is beauty —
and I’m not talking just skin deep. I’m
talking about the history that walks beside me,
the legacy that breathes within me.
My kinky, curly hair makes people stop and stare,
Yet society whispers “ tame it “
but what do they mean?
Follow me when I say this,
they really mean tame me.
They want to assimilate us
into a culture built to humiliate us,
yet I find it ironic —
how they imitate us.
From our fashion to our cooking,
our music,
our hair —
they wear what we are,
but when we do it,
we’re called an abomination.
When they do it,
they get mad because we call it
cultural appropriation.
But let’s not forget —
my ancestors never asked
to be stolen, shackled,
and shipped across seas
to build a nation
that beat them,
assaulted them,
and still dares to call itself free.
It’s a slap in the face
to hear a president shout,
“Make America great again.”
Dare I ask —
When was America ever great to begin with?
Do you mean the 1800s,
when slave masters grew rich
off the broken backs of my ancestors?
Then turned around and made them feel
as if they should be ashamed to be black.
Or maybe you mean the 1960s,
when my people marched up and down the streets
begging to be treated as human beings.
Dr. King protested for peace —
just to turn around and get beat down in the streets.
Or perhaps you mean the 2000s,
when Black men still can’t walk down the street
without fear of flashing lights,
sirens,
and guns drawn?
Rest in peace, George Floyd —
your last breath cried, “I can’t breathe.”
And yet,
This system still kneels on our necks today.
That’s how it works in this society.
They try to hold us back, suck the life right out of us with systematic racism that still exist til this day, but hear me when I say:
My Black is beautiful.
And I will always feel that way.
They say being black is a weapon,
I say the most powerful indeed.
This black skin that I’m in
should be the reason they fear me.
My ancestors live through me —
fueling my fire,
urging me to let freedom ring.
Black is a shade so radiant,
they’ve tried to paint the world with it —
even as they envy it.
But who wouldn’t?
Because Black is beauty.
This skin I’m in
is a testament
to every soul who came before me.
So I will fight injustice
until my last breath,
and I dare you to stand beside me
in this fight to be free.
Because Black is beautiful.
Black is powerful.
Black is everything they fear we could be.
Being Black doesn’t make us less —
It makes us strong.
It makes us resilient.
Never forget that.
My Black is beauty
— and if I had to be born again,
I would still choose to be Black.