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.
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.
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 that's what black is.