the wounds have changed me. I am so soft with scars — my skin breathes and beats stars. — Nayyirah Waheed
I can breathe.
I keep breathing, even in spaces where my breaths are endangered. Those spaces where bloodied hands strategically concealed in pockets, await their chance to snatch my breaths right out of my already gasping throat — one sinister micro aggression at a time.
No, you can not touch my hair — and please, be mindful how you stare.
These daily invasions pollute the air, and threaten to disrupt mental health. The battle has claimed too many lives, so much effort made by an unjust army — that aims to have a warrior at war with herself.
I hear them say:
‘Oh no, I didn’t mean it like that — some of my best friends are Black…’
What fresh fuckery is that!
Thunder rumbles in my brain, the lightening on my tongue — wants to strike once again.
I am eye to eye with a wolf in wolves clothing.
I am both visible and invisible to you, you’re so tempted to touch yet filled with disgust — how bizarre. You keep trying not to breathe me in, but my stardust is everywhere — twitching nostrils and glistening eyes. Watch me show you who I am.
I am a Black woman in Brown skin.
I cheer myself on and simultaneously — champion my skin-folk.
“I’m rooting for everybody Black.” — Issa Rae
I will not be cast as your usual suspect, I am not the villain of the piece.
I will take the role of Super Shero. I do not require a cape to save myself — from your nonsensical script.
I cast you out.
Inside my head, I ask the rhetorical question ‘when will we get the chance — to just be human?’
I am not asking for your permission or a chance — to just be human
I am Black privilege. Black lives still matter.
I can breathe.