I have reached a place in my life where I am exhausted.
My tongue no longer has the strength to spit whispered profanities at my offenders.
My heart no longer has the ability to boil and bubble at the naivety of some in society.
My face no longer has the elasticity to bounce back from the clenched jaw mask that I so often assume.
My molars are ground flat. My throat is hoarse from long-winded explanations, debates and outright demands.
I am tired of being an angry-black
Are you not exhausted? I have chosen to take a new stance. From this position I hope to finally be able to see the halfway mark that we have all, ALL, been searching blindly for.
The place between black and enraged and white and terrified.
A place between South African history, universal acceptance, societal norms and the bright future.
So I have done away with the angry and now am just black.
Black as I want to be, black as I see fit. Black when and how and where I want.
Black for me, black in me. Individually and socially black. Black in my western ways, black in my English twang.
Black in the way I wear my hair, drive my car, greet my parents.
I am black for me and by me and with me.
I refuse to allow my existence to be hindered by the minds of those who cn not expand. My education is not white, it is just education. My upbringing is not white it is just upbringing. My language is the language of my family. White is not a status.
Dear black people, we can not fight a thing that is intangible. Why are we fighting?
We can not reach our half way mark by pointing out all of the things that white people don’t have to do to get there. So what if life is easier for the lighter hue. Right now we are talking about community, how to create it. How to bond, become one, form a brother/sisterhood. Right now what was, is less important than what will be.
Dear black people, stop accusing white people of making your life hard. They know it.
Those high walls, big cars with tinted windows. It shows. They know. But remember too, this current state has long been starting to self perpetuate.
We’re playing a never-ending game of pretend. No one will win in the end.
This game of fear and loathing is closing doors and opening sores.
Blame is an unfair game of shame and pain. All we are doing is repeating history.
Again. And. Again.
Dear black people, be proud but fair. Be humane in your celebration of the self.
Be supportive to those who are learning change. Help those who stumble, lift them up again. This celebration is for all hues, let us not exclude those who once chose to exclude. We are new, this is new. Together we are fumbling, tripping our own baby feet up from underneath ourselves. Black hand in white hand in brown hand, we will soon learn to run.
Dear white people, do not shade your face from the sun, take us in and absorb the celebration of melanin.
Check yourselves, the ego mends and bends.
Most importantly remember, black is not a culture it’s a hue, a measure of cells, a thickening of skin, melanin can not build a personality.
Black people take note, be you, to your own-self be true.