It’s Friday afternoon, 2:20 pm.
The weekend begins tomorrow but it also begins in 38400 seconds.
Yesterday, in the class where musical instruments begin to speak,
I let a single word slip through my lips.
A single individual repeated the word in a mocking sense,
everyone laughed.
I apologized, and the conversation continued.
“Dawg”. A word of four letters, with so much more meaning if you allow it to.
How could I let my tongue pronounce and construct
those letters to produce the sound of that word?
My mother raised me better than that.
That’s what they expect from me, from my black skin, from my coily black hair.
My computer tells me the word coily does not even exist
as it categorizes it as an “unknown word”.
They say, “The color of your skin should not define you.” but I know it does.
I have no shame in that, I’ve learned to accept the skin that I’m in.
When first joined the track team, someone “joked” that black kids have speed.
Pun intended. Do you understand?
I know that I have speed, but that doesn’t mean I’m on it.
Have you heard that black people LOVE chicken?
I know I can tolerate it, but despite the gossip, I wouldn’t make it as serious as life or death.
It would be incredible to be accepted, included, respected,
and seen without judgment by everyone.
But I’m aware that there is a difference between a dream and reality.
It just wouldn’t make sense taking history into thought.
I love who I am as a person, and at 2:52 pm, I’ve learned to accept it.
SaNaya's Poetry Blog 