Black is Beautiful

Black

Is fucking beautiful.

But where I grew up

Black beauty was biding it’s time.

Waiting for the chance

To Shawshank its way into redemptive listening.

Wearing supporting character like we were born for it.

Scene.

Elementary school playground.

We enter through an overheard whisper of observation

“hey, why is your skin so dark?”

And even in the shade of innocence

I am black boy burning.

Blistered by the sun of out crowd mentality.

Hindsight is seeing infinity clearly,

And my response should have been

“Fuck you.”

Or.

“I woke up like this.”

Or.

"Evolution didn’t want my beauty marred by age,

So it upped my melanin prescription.”

I said nothing.

Just shrugged and hoped I wouldn’t be excluded

From whatever childish game we were fabricating.

A lesson:

To fit in,

Subjugate your self confidence and self worth

For the ability to play along.

Then take note.

This lesson will be applied later.

A brief pause in the story.


Yes,

Even before I fully understood what that question was really asking

That shit bothered me.

People think the scars we earn as kids harden us.

I disagree.

I think the scars we earn as kids bleed.

Until we cover them with pleasantries.

Until our laugh sounds like a defense mechanism.

Until the scar becomes infection

Or poetry.

We bleed

Until we learn to heal from the outpouring.

Until our blood becomes both mourning and medicine

Or nothing.

We just bleed.

We pick up the story

Where black boy meets white precedence.

At the office.

The movies.

The bank.

Behind the badge.

Only,

The precedence is wearing his style.

Speaking his tongue.

Raising his taxes.

Performing his magic

By capitalizing on his struggle and still denying it exists.

Isn’t it ironic?

Being black was only cool

When non-black people were doing it.

The scene ends with a mirror and a message.

To love the reflection

You have to also appreciate the anguish that led to it.

Until then,

You are shattered glass masquerading as a human.

Being.

Black is fucking beautiful.

I learned this the hard way.

Meaning I never learned this.

Meaning it was never taught to me.

Meaning I learned black was only good as precursor

To “but”

To “for”

Script reads:

"You’re cute,

But you’re black."

Or

"You’re really attractive

For a black person."

And in this choose your own adventure,

We are chosen second

Or not at all.

We auditioned for the role of Equal

But got cast as understudy.

Told equality wasn’t ready for our particular shine.

So black beauty bided its time.

Illuminating the wings while waiting for a spotlight

A stage.

Scene.

We enter through an overheard exclamation of observation.

“Hey. Your skin, it’s gorgeous.”

And even in the warmth of friends and family

I freeze.

Hesitate.

Wait for the post script.

The "but"

The "for"

But in the subsequent silence

I unlearn the language I picked up as a kid.

The one that speaks of black beauty

Being anything but everything captivating.

Pristine.

Praise worthy.

I am learning the language

Of Leave It If It No Longer Serves You.

And

Love The Skin That Holds You Like Home.

I am black.

And I am fucking beautiful.

I know this now.

And my hope

Is that you do too.