"Black is the absence of color."

The absence of color is merely an attempt to describe something in words that doesn't fit any label.

Black is sweater that slims you down, tucks in your thighs.

Black is "The Revolution Will Not Be Televised."

Black is that eyeliner you so often flick and wing.

Black is sweaty Saturdays on the blacktop with your boys and ball.

Black is how you like your dark roast Starbucks coffee.

Black is paving roads without cement.

Black is your perception of anything other than you.

Black is as left behind as that last step you took.

Black is that marbled composition book you fill with notes about Shakespeare, George Bush, and the Three-Fifths Compromise.

Black is curly, kinky, straight tresses that sprout from nourished roots.

Black is "don't venture there, it's too shady." And cross the street if he's darker than khaki.

Black is whistling Vivaldi because it sounds just as good as the Jay-Z your homeboy blasts from his Impala.

Black is profitable and case study. Black is fresh jays, temp fades, bundles, and dime bags.

Black is sagging pants and penitentiary.

Black is knowledge and power, style and art. Black is mahogany, mocha, midnight.

Black is a necessary as a left and right shoe but disappears like socks in the dryer.

Black is anything that is worth something.

Black is the new black.