The Truth

As I spill this tea out of my cup that says “Black Girl Magic” in big, bold letters of melanin, try to picture me. Opinionated and sassy, yet soft spoken because it confuses them when I act in such a way.

Because I don’t scream “I’m angry!” you think you can make me play on your team as if I don’t dream? That I can walk with my head high because I’m on your side, think again.

I won’t pretend you didn’t corrupt me… Or frighten me, because in society’s eyes I’m not a prize unless they can capitalize.

Does my black life not matter? Well at least not to you because you don’t walk in my shoes. To you, I’m just a number, a statistic. Until you find out the mind of this “little black girl” can soar and do more than the average. Then I’m a token, a test score. You can preach to the masses and say, “Look everybody we’ve made a difference,” when the difference is the percentages you add and subtract, to make the progress match. So there’s the catch!

I knew there was one all along, they never empower us, they devour us and before I was ashamed until I found out how afraid they are of my brain. Our minds they innovate and reproduce more doctors, more lawyers, more stylist that get you slayed and stitch up your braids. So you can call yourself woke, but you won’t make me choke.

Do you feel the words I just spoke? I’m no joke, and neither are you, but the difference now is, you’ll need me and I’ll never need you.

-Brianna Donald


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