How do I teach you if you would not listen or educate yourself about the many days I have lived, days that you fail to remember but I never seem to forget. How would you learn about me when you are bent on being my master without mastering the basics of being a student.
How do I explain that this skin is irreplaceable, no matter how technical I get, what position, the best angles where the light hits this skin the most and transforms it into a couple of shade closer to the sun, long enough for me to accept that’s the brightest shade it will ever know.
How do I explain to you that I never had a choice to pick a shade. Beige, white, yellow, blue, green anything but this shit colour. How do I explain that I want the kind of glow under these florescent, the kind that actually shows my true colour, blue for when I can hardly breath, red for when I see you and can’t seem to do anything with myself, green for when I feel sick to my stomach when you fail to listen when I tell you that is simply not me. How will you learn that I don’t speak african if you won’t cast your mind out into the ocean of tongues that springs forth many beautiful voices that rings like an alarm of songs sang by my mother on a saturday morning. I tried to tell you that before your tongue found its route into my mouth, I already had one swaying like the sea riding its waves back to shore. Yet you claim the words of nelson mandela, martin luther king Jr, Malcolm X and other greats and turned it into something worth not knowing, something of a story like ‘once upon a time….’ we had no freedom to express ourselves but’s that’s okay I will write tales about your liberations for you. How do I make you understand that we are not all built the same, not every black woman is loud and obnoxious or has a giant backside, and that every black man is an enigma, their identity has collided into one, they are the threats, the gangbangers, shoot him before he does any harm with his bag of skittles, the nigga, negro, the criminals, injustice is now the destiny chosen for them. How do I make an ignorant generation listen, when they are so sure on the right kind of wrong. How do I speak to make them listen, how do I teach if they will not listen to the words that has lived through many, how do I shout at the world to make them pay attentions when all they do is paint a picture of the end but never stops to witness the midpoint to the stories being told. How do I do preach to the choir, without sounding like Jesus only died for my sins.