Racism Poetry

I’m Not My Skin
 


I’m not my skin
I’m not your expectations
I’m the soul that lives in me,
I’m that which the blind can see
And all that you can’t see.

I’m the little boy confused
By the world’s segregation,
I’m the laugh of their talk,
I’m not trying to be you,
Look at my stiff black hair?
It stands tall like trees in the forest:
Its feels so pure and sets me free.
Look at my thoughts, they are diverse
And full of colors.

I’m not my skin
I’m not who you think Iam,
I’m the river that flows and blesses
Every oasis with a touch of water.
I’m the man who sees no color.

Touch my tan skin
And you’ll see that I’m human too.
I’m not trying to gain approval from you,
I just want you to know that I’m not my skin.
My culture is scarred by the human traitors,
I owe no forgiveness to any man alive…
Does the way I walk, smile or wear my afro
Make me any less human?
Should I be ashamed of my own skin?

I’m not my skin,
I’m not my hair,
I’m the soul that lives within,
Poverty, disease, loss of human dignity
Are my arch enemies besides man.

Your broken kisses heal my human body,
You spite for a person of a person my kind
Cannot break or shake to take me away into any
Sort of mortal shame for the skin that covers my
Bones and muscles.
My hearts beats rhythmically like a Zambian drum,
My broad nose inhales the air my ancestors left,
My eyes see the moon, sun and the stars
That Bantu forefathers
Worshiped and sacrificed lives for…
And this is who I’ll always be.

I’m not my skin,
I’m the simple person you’ll never know,
I’m the culture will never touch,
I’m the proud onyx soul you’ll never kiss.

I’m that little girl on mother’s back
Who she carried whenever
She went begging on the street,
I’m that lost lone needle in the hay.
You can only see my russet skin..
In me you can only see a slave,
A second class human!
I’ll continue to walk tall like the beautiful
African queen my mother told me I’m.

I’m not my skin,
Like you I’m not perfect, I react when I don’t mean to.
To kill me, take away my skin
And throw it beyond my children’s reach.
My black skin rages your emotions…
Your lust for another killing of my kind
Fuels every breath you take.

Here’s a knife tear my skin apart?
You’ll see that the blood I hold is scarlet…
Like a human’s or any other animal’s.
When my heart is broken I cry just like you do,
To you good skin means bright and not black.
The sun can’t hurt me I tamed her,
The night’s creatures can’t see me
Because my skin camouflages my soul.
Your bitter words can’t hurt me, I hate them not you.

Nuchi Laccini - Zambia 

My Hair Does Not Define Who I Am

I am more than the 4C type
It does not get me where I’m going in life
The kinkiness does not exemplify what I am capable of
Just how I present myself out of love

I am more than the twist outs, braid outs, and wash and go’s
Even more classy than the glamorous afro
I am deeply enriched in intelligence
To support all of my investments

I am more than the olive oil and coconut oil
I’m just in love with my future to which I am loyal
I am concentrated to make it through
Just like the conditioner and shampoo

I am more than the natural hair product
Even though it not working would just be my luck
I am on a bright path towards my future
In which my dreams only need to mature

I am more than the deep conditioning and protein treatments
For my success does not have limits
I am going to be somebody
But I don’t know if the world is ready

I am more than the bad hair days
Because I conquer them in many ways
I am often misunderstood
In fact I knew that I would

I am more than my hair
Including its texture and style that makes people stare
I am only focused on the characteristics and traits that make up my personality
Therefore, my hair does not define who I am most importantly

Chekayah

Black Girl, Black Girl

 

When I was in middle school, I went through a phase.
I wore distressed skinny jeans and alternative rock band tees and studded belts and belt chains and low canvas converse of nearly every color in the rainbow.
I listened to what to some, would be called "white people music."
I didn't know how to control my hair back then, so a ponytail with more of a mane than a tail was the backdrop to the abstract work of art that was my pre-teen face.
Amtrak braces going across jaggedy mountain teeth and two bushels of eyebrows protecting the fortress of chunky black glasses.
I was different.
There were a group of girls at my school that were more popular than the rest.
They all wore Hollister, Abercrombie, carried Coach wristlets and pranced around in this season's new Ugg boots. And only those.
They were acquaintances, but not friends.
I thought they didn't like me because I was different.
And then I remember my sixth grade self thinking about all the differences between me and these girls.
And I remember my sixth grade self zeroing in on one specific difference that I had to question more than the rest.
And I remember my sixth grade self asking my mom on the car ride to school,
"Mommy? Do you think they would like me more if I was white?"

And my mom didn't know exactly how to respond.
Part consideration and part hesitation. She didn't know how quite to respond.
Because being one of the few black beings growing up in white suburbia did not exactly provide the best answers to these types of questions.
But you know what she told me? 
The truth.
"Maybe sweetie. Maybe."
I remembered thinking that that was just so unfair, so rude, so ignorant of them.
And then I said, "Oh well. Their loss."

But now I'm 17. And social media is desensitizing my generation and granting people cyber courage to say things they would never say in the world outside their front door and attaining opinions that would never be claimed as their own if it weren't for this twisted society we let inside our homes.
Boys, NOT MEN, have become more picky, or excuse me, vocal about their preferences and choices in women lately on social media. And I quote:
"I only like snow bunnies and Latinas."
"I never once said black girls don't look good, I just said white and Spanish girls look better."
"I don't date black girls."
"Brazilian girls are the best then white girls then Spanish girls then dirt and then black girls."
End quote.

I am a black girl and I live in a world where the men who look just like my father with the same brown skin as me that I wear proudly tell me that they do not prefer my race of women, that we are at the bottom of the food chain, of the romantic hierarchy, of motherfucking society.
Black girls in a media picture get painted and depicted as bitter and loud and unattractive and uncivilized and uneducated and bestial and inhuman.
And that is not fair.
To me, my sister or my entire culture.

Just because my hair doesn't morph into perfect circular ringlets when wet or my complexion isn't fair enough to get off scotch free from the cops or I'm not mixed with enough nationalities to represent an entire melting pot, you're telling me you can't love me? Or you don't want to, because that's what society is telling you?

A surprising number of black males have been the culprits of this bullshit and buffoonery.
"I don't like black girls at all."
Look up from your insensitive tweet on your insensitive  phone in your insensitive hands and tell me what you see in front of you, feeding you, clothing you, loving you?
Your mother. A black girl.
When black men get murdered without justice across America, who is there, behind you, supporting you, standing up for you, fighting for you?
The black woman.

"Everybody has preferences, you have to respect them!"
Oh I'm all for respecting people's preferences but once their preferences lead them to disrespect me, fuck that, I don't know who told you respect was a one way street.
Stop feeding into society and basing the image of your ideal soul mate off of fetishes and novelties.
Stop throwing us into a corner and then turning us against each other with statements such as:
"Lightskin girls are winning"
"Brown skin girls are winning"
"Dark skin girls are winning"
Light, brown, dark, yellow, chocolate, caramel, copper - it does not matter.
We are all black girls and we all win together.

I do not want this racially infused hatred to be injected into my blood stream so that when I have a baby black girl she is born with insecurities.
I don't want her to come home to me and tell me that she likes a boy but she has to see, because she doesn't know if he likes black females.
I don't want her to come home to me and beg me to try and make her hair curlier or straighter or lighter or softer or longer because she doesn't think people will like her.
I don't want her to come home to me and tell me that she liked Devon but Devon liked Brittany more, and ask me, "Mommy? Do you think he would like me more if I was white?"
I do not want to give her the same answer my mom gave me.
I want to tell her, "No, sweetie, Devon doesn't like you because he's a fuck face who is blind to all the fantastic things that make you phenomenal."
I want to tell her that she can be loved no matter what her race is.
I want to tell her that love is based on the details of her heart and the contents of her mind, not the color of her hands that she will use to flip you bastards off.
I want to tell her, that just because the movies and tv portrays her as loud and uncontrollable, she doesn't have to be the opposite or just like it.
I want to tell her that if a man lumps her in and generalizes her by saying "He dates only black girls," she should dump his ass, because she is not a novelty.
I want to tell her that she doesn't need someone to love her, for her to love herself.
I want to tell her to empower herself and prove them all wrong.
I want to tell her to carry herself like royalty, no matter what she is told otherwise. 

Because she is a black girl. And that makes her a flawless queen.

kaitlynmcnab

Beautiful Black Woman

Beautiful woman this poem is for you
Full of beauty and grace
Rare black Queen sitting high on your throne
No one can take your place
Your heart is full of pure gold
Never to be played with
Bought or sold
Your Love is Patient Your Love is kind
Always trying to bring joy to others even when you can’t do it for yourself
And keeping them close in mind
A good woman is what you are
A woman to whom is proud of who she is and what she stands for
Never seeking definition from whom she is with
A strong woman is what I see when I look at you
One who can pick up the small pieces of her broken heart
And carry on as if she was never hurt in the first place.
When talking about this woman I can’t help but smile
Knowing the woman that I can speak so highly of is ME.

cwoods2119


India Arie:"I am not my Hair" Lyrics
 
[Talking:]
Is that India.Arie? What happened to her hair? Ha ha ha ha ha
Dat dad a dat da [4x] Dad a ooh

[Verse 1]
Little girl with the press and curl
Age eight I got a Jheri curl
Thirteen I got a relaxer
I was a source of so much laughter
At fifteen when it all broke off
Eighteen and went all natural
February two thousand and two
I went and did
What I had to do
Because it was time to change my life
To become the women that I am inside
Ninety-seven dreadlock all gone
I looked in the mirror
For the first time and saw that HEY....

[Chorus]
I am not my hair
I am not this skin
I am not your expectations no no
I am not my hair
I ma not this skin
I am a soul that lives within

[Talking:]
What'd she do to her hair? I don't know it look crazy
I like it. I might do that.
Umm I wouldn't go that far. I know .. ha ha ha ha

[Verse 2]
Good hair means curls and waves
Bad hair means you look like a slave
At the turn of the century
Its time for us to redefine who we be
You can shave it off
Like a South African beauty
Or get in on lock
Like Bob Marley
You can rock it straight
Like Oprah Winfrey
If its not what's on your head
Its what's underneath and say HEY....

[Chorus]

[Bridge]
(Whoa, whoa, whoa)
Does the way I wear my hair make me a better person?
(Whoa, whoa, whoa)
Does the way I wear my hair make me a better friend? Oooh
(Whoa, whoa, whoa)
Does the way I wear my hair determine my integrity?
(Whoa, whoa, whoa)
I am expressing my creativity..
(Whoa, whoa, whoa)

[Verse 3]
Breast Cancer and Chemotherapy
Took away her crown and glory
She promised God if she was to survive
She would enjoy everyday of her life ooh
On national television
Her diamond eyes are sparkling
Bald headed like a full moon shining
Singing out to the whole wide world like HEY...

[Chorus 2x]

[Ad lib]
If I wanna shave it close
Or if I wanna rock locks
That don't take a bit away
From the soul that I got
Dat da da dat da [4x]
If I wanna where it braided
All down my back
I don't see what wrong with that
Dat da da dat da [4x]

[Talking:]
Is that India.Arie?
Ooh look she cut her hair!
I like that, its kinda PHAT
I don't know if I could do it.
But it looks sharp, it looks nice on her
She got a nice shaped head
She got an apple head
I know right?
It's perfect.
 

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