Blackened Vision

See the fact is. I don't know what being black is. because for me to call myself black would be to accept the shifting sociological construct that is race. the same sociological construct that in 1780 in the caribbean calls Barack obama "mullato" and suddenly in 1965 in alabama he tranforms into a negro and in the Congo in 2002 he transforms again and now he's white, and in 2013 in New York brands him as mixed. But STILL! the fact is I don’t know what "black" is. And how is it that two apparently black kids can create a distinction between themselves deeming one "black" and other "not as black". So even BLACK KIDS don't know what black is. Maybe being black is making sure my swagger's down patted. bumpin hot 97 and makin sure my snapback is firmly on my head and the beak is twisted backwards. Making sure I got the Kobe's, the Jordans, and the magics. Having full on debates about my sneaker's and their fabrics. Maybe that's it. BUT STIIILLLLLL, the fact is, I don't know what being black is... maybe black is being bound up as a captive thrown a ship into a blackness arriving on strange soil toiling while your back's stripped piece to piece by a black whipp and working in the house only if your attractive. Maybe Black is bending over doing backflips and seeing your people freed but still feeling captive. Maybe black is roughly another hundred years of the same racist madness thats finally tackled by its roots by a king who says "IVE HAD IT". Who talked about a mountain and how he's seen it and he knew it cause he dream it and he could feel it in his soul so much he couldn’t conceal it. and he revealed it to the world. hoping the world would catch it. imbibe the same magic. take a match and scratch it to light the very torch the people could lead the path with. ...And now we have it. the power to alter courses and dismantle certain habits. the power to multiply love rather than divide it and subtract it. the power to pull together like opposite ends of magnets. Teaching our kids not what a white man is or what a black man is. But what a man is. Sometimes I feel I speak too much and maybe I should can it. Leave the words alone and leave the world to manage. Then something deep inside of me takes that thought and BANNS IT. Expression of the mind is not an option; my heart and soul command it. Say what you need to say. even if its not attractive. Maybe that very feeling the thought of knowing I must be added; if a single twig is missing from the house the house collapses; the understanding of unity despite the devils tactics Maybe. Just maybe. Maybe that's what black is.