a stream of color consciousness

I was born to a mother who made me black

instead of pink. or tan. or white.

I was born to a mother who made me feel proud to be black.

To have melanin in my skin, to have rich

history and ancestry in my veins.

It wasn’t till I was 12 that my pride began to change,

To fear

To worry.

I couldn’t understand why the majority of man

Weren’t fans

years later, things have only gotten worse,

People who look like me are dying as if they’re cursed.

Not to mention, I have a teenage brother who

looks at the news and sees black men dying

as if it’s been rehearsed.

All because we were born.

In an America that was never meant to be ours.

Where we were meant to serve hours,

Instead of knowing our power.

(the power of our color, the pride that comes close,

thriving and filled with unspoken hopes)

In an America where our lives

Are like fries

In the bottom of a bag.

And even less than that.

In an America where we are tagged

and measured

not for a suit,

or a dress,

but a body bag.

MLK said I have a dream,

And so do we.

That we’ll get to go home

and phone,

our moms and dads and see another day.

That someone who is white won’t take our lives away.

And maybe one day,

we’ll finally be equal.

Not treated like a prequel.

So that our lives will matter too.

That this color we couldn't choose,

won't remind us of the blues or

red lights flashing,

that our lives aren't something to los

History is watching.

Which side are you on?

Where will your name go down

on someone’s five pronged

notebook, so that when all of this is recalled—

You have to answer for your rights and wrongs.

And whether you chose to fight for the lives

that always get lost.

For the lives that were always supposed to matter,

as creation intended them to.