Why am I the Voice

Dear America, Why when I'm the only black person in the room I'm supposed to have all the answers for my entire race Why am I supposed to have 6 dictionaries 3 thesaurus and a scholarly article to explain why you shouldn't say nigga Why do I need to know every bit of my history just to tell you that bantu knots aren't called twisted mini buns and cornrows aren't boxer braids And why am I supposed to have the answers in 16 bars or less oh yes it's possible. Possible for me not to know all the answers but know enough To know that you can't do that. You can't tell an entire race an entire culture that they have to be what you want to them to be. You can't take my skin and wear it. You can't take the ghetto clothes off my back and call them chic Can't rip my hair from my scalp and name it edgy Can't take my big ass lips and curvacious hips and mold your lips to call them your own You can't do that. Because I am not your mascot, I am not your mad black woman, I am not your chocolate mochachino chip honey, I'm not just entertainment when you want it Then target practice when you need it. The welts of appropriation and assimilation stay on my skin, fresh from the crack of your privileged whip, the pain unbearable to my mind I scream. And i will scream until my throat is raw and my head pounds Until by heart hurts and my soul is aching until you understand that I have a voice, but I'm not the only one. I am not the only voice