When I punch the air
Why doesn’t it land?
I need something to connect
With my fist
Maybe it would ease the burn
In my chest
Cool it down
That’s too much, Kristina.
Why are you like this?
I am like this because I am sure I swallowed the white supremacy that I was force fed.
I cannot even face all of the slop that I have had to regurgitate.
Instead of the Black excellence
I’ve identified as Christian
And today I heard one refer to their privilege
As “White Blessings”
I hope you choke on it and it goes down like serrated knives
I am like this because my niece is scared for my life.
I want to tell her it’s not true. Her fear is completely irrational.
But I promised to be a truth teller.
I hate watching children protest
Not because of their awareness.
But because they are supposed to revel in their innocence.
It was NEVER supposed to be their turn to march about strange fruit.
I hate that I know there are other Black people whose ancestors were not born in Amerikkka and don’t recognize their Blackness.
You are BLACK.
You are BLACK.
You are Blackity BLACK BLACK.
Your first language, your gorgeous accent, your work ethic and your degrees WILL NOT SAVE YOU.
It is not a shield.
Wake up from your slumber
Your BLACKNESS burns
So damned bright.
Don’t be afraid.
Don’t believe what they told you.
AND I SHOUT THIS
As a Haitian-American woman.
You can own your BLACKNESS and your culture. They can live in the same place.
They have to.
We were enslaved and colonized
A world apart.
Don’t forget it.
We are cousins.
And I hate that I know there are those whose ancestors were enslaved in Amerikkka but are terrified of change and don’t want to rock the boat
And because of your fear, you spout tired and false claims about Black on Black crime and won’t look your Brothers and Sisters in the eye.
The flames in my chest that roar
The melancholy that invades
Because all who are lost will not be found.