This, is to the woman at the bus stop

That was talking shit to my mother and I in spanish

As if my five year old ears were to undeveloped to understand the melodramatic hypocrisy in her vernacular

To the baboso, that called me a monkey on instagram

To the man

To the fuckingman that said my skin was too light to ever be a real brutha

My people

Don’t recognize me as their people

We do not find sanctuary in the same shadows

Do not find shelter in the same streets

Do not find security in the same songs

Do not find safety in the same silence

We do not mingle with each others demons

Because my skin

My skin

My skin

Changes with the weather


Maybe I'm too radical for them to claim skin too dark and hair almost straight

Unfathomable to an unconscious brain

I am everything and anything

I am the yin the yang

The alpha the omega

I am the oppressed

And the reparations

Afro que nada

I am black and brown

And i will reclaim the nation of islam and aztlan

At the same fucking time

You will not force me to chose a nation

Ive been living out of brown boxes and black hefty bags my entire life

Its funny

How we can pack up everything that we are

Everything that we once were

And everything that we're going to be

Into boxes and bags and still call ourselves free

And this?

This poem here

Is me unpacking all of that shit

And I’d be lying

If i didn't say

That as soon as i was old enough to understand what race and color

Meant in a “post apartheid” society

That is addicted

To policing dismantling and oppressing all of the cultures that make up my identity

I knew

I knew that i could not just pick one

One fight one movement

One struggle to die for

I was five hair to my knees and nothing but wonder in my heart

When the same system that is militarizing our communities tore two halves of me apart

Se i know

I know it is not just you

Woman at the bus stop

Boy on instagram

Man that is too prideful to accept that my brown skin is just as deep as his melanin

See i acknowledge

Recognize the cards I've been dealt

I'm trying to check my privilege

But there is something beautiful in these scars

Something holy in this space here

Something divine about the trinity

That makes up my identity

So let's talk

Let's talk about how cuba and africa

Never worked together to fight against apartheid

Let's talk about all the black and brown folk

That don't live in damn near the same communities with damn near the same struggles

Let's talk

About all the underrepresented

Miseducated mixed folk

That look something like me

We just want you all to see

That we know how to breathe