Brown Skin and Black Roses
Maybe if you lived in my skin you would understand the predicament I’m in.
Hardships and discrimination that is.
White Privilege that is.
Because everything that white man wants, it’s his.
Tell me how many scholarships are available to the black students?
That because they assume that every black student does not care about school and isn’t prudent.
I remember the first time this boy said he didn’t like dark skin girls.
I remember reevaluating my worth as if I wasn’t as delicate as a pearl.
Do you know how that hurt?
I felt as low as dirt.
That night I cried to let the pain die.
The pain that was deep in my heart that I could not deny.
With those pills in my hand, I found the good in goodbye.
Those black roses that I intended to swallow knowing the outcome would allow me to fly high all through out the sky.
If I swallowed those black roses I would feel glorified.
Soaring through the sky with my grandpa; we would be unified.
I was tired of the pain.
I was tired on the rain.
My insecurities were eating me alive.
Steadily getting them thrown back in my face, and they wondered why I wanted to die.
Falling apart piece by piece.
I just wanted all the pain to cease.
I didn’t want anyone to dare tell me I was being selfish by swallowing those black roses.
What’s actually selfish is keeping someone alive who rather die than living another day in their own mind.
Those two things, insecurities and depression, they kill.
Eating you alive piece by piece until you die.
This is why I encourage my black queen to love the skin that she’s in.
My black queen will always be beautiful within.
I hold them together like a safety pin, reminding them that we are more than separating fibers on a cotton gin.
This is why we hold up our black kings.
Helping them to grow and bloom like flowers in the spring.
As I look around I notice we have far to go.
The truth shines in my face and it glows.
We will never be equal to the white man.
Just because I am black and not tan.
We will never stop fighting.
Don’t yall see these black mothers crying.
Tired of seeing their babies dying.
This why we stand in Ferguson with our hands up.
This is why we stand up.
I love the skin that I’m in.
But, don’t you ever try to compare to me because you’ll never understand the predicament I’m in.