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My black story

Updated: Jun 12, 2020

contains one swear word

My black story


My black story has a personality disorder.

To be honest black for me was not me.

Sad to say I used to call myself an Oreo.

Black on the outside, white on the inside.

I felt my blackness died, with my skin just being the coffin.

Every time I looked in the mirror I mourned.

See my black story is not unfamiliar.

Many Black kids feel like they don’t fit in.

Like the black sheep in a field of white

Many Black kids feel like they have no identity.

Like their identity is valued by the opinion of others.

But then I learned something.

There is a moment in a black person life, where they see their value.

The value in the world that either limit then for a stereotype.

Or generalises their history.

As helpless.

A continent of hungry stomachs.

But fail to see we are filled with passion in our bones.

My moment was in South Africa.

With that moment came all the pride.

To call my self a Sierra Leonean.

To call my self a black man.

To link my self to my black heroes.

Who fought slavery.

Who fought glass ceilings

Who made their name in a world that is cruel.

In a world that valued then less than dirt.

But they built a mountain out of that dirt.

That overshadowed all the Naysayers.

So to Martin Luther King.

Who unified many.

In black-white divided America.

So to my mother.

Who showed me that black is sharing.

Sharing love.

With a canyon for a smile.

Lifting everybody around her.

To achieve greatness.

So to my father.

Who showed me that black is power.

Power personified permanently in knowledge.

Power personified permanently in wisdom.

Power personified permanently in hard work

Power personified permanently in humility.

They showed me that melanin is as strong as steel.

Is as beautiful as a million sunsets.

My melanin is a library.

With knowledge dating back generations.

And I.

You.

Many melanin Marvels.

Are adding to every day.

So with so much history in our skin.

We should shout about it until the air is heavy.

With words of pride.

Then say fuck it.

And shout some more.

We should sing about it.

Create a song so infectious that the world will be singing

Along with us.

We should embrace it.

Like a parent embraces a child after a school play.

With so much joy.

It overflows through their pores.

Stains their skin like a tattoo.

So the world sees.

Black beauty at its finest.

So put on some afrobeats.

And dance till the rhythm matches the beating of your heart.

So eat gari.

krain krain

B’stilla.

Brochette.

Nyembwe.

Don’t just eat till your stomach is full.

Eat until your soul is full.

Eat till your stomach sings songs.

So sweet that angels get jealous.

Come down from heaven.

Just to feel the feelings.

You are feeling.

So love your melanin.

It’s our greatest superpower.


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