Why me?

The word “RACISM” was introduced to me, while the English language still struggled to fly free from my mouth. Long before, I was told pretty was white Skin scrubbed red but never quite right It wasn't until the word “BLACK” was the first word used to describe me That the different shades began to spin around me Hoping somebody would find me, In a world where people say they can’t see me Because....you don't see color right? So I searched and seeked for an answer and found refuge in pen and paper But you see… the problems before me didn't just disappear, they fit in the nooks and crannies of my words…. escaping with each pen stroke. So until my lips and the world shared the same passion as my pen and my paper, I would keep searching for refuge in places that weren’t mine to seek refuge. Till’ the power of my voice overpowered that of my fist, Now...they're listening But you know what? I’m tired… Tired of the hashtags I wake up to in the morning Praying my brother (my brothers) don't end up another story Another hashtag A name so deeply forgotten, it’s taken an squeezed out like a dirty rag Hashtag forgotten I am tired. Of having to move To inconvenience myself for your comfortability why should I have to smile while you clench your bag a little tighter I am human and I shouldn't have to move because when I stand Makes YOU uncomfortable... You know what? I am just tired Aren't you? Tired of the silence they try to hand feed me You learn that just because something happens doesn't mean you talk about it, we don't talk about those amber alerts for those amber skinned girls because then… we’re making it a race thing But they'll talk about how your music is too loud Or how you're too ghetto for this part of town And how i'm the angry black woman My genuine emotion portrayed as misplaced rage Ask me why I'm angry Cause I'm paying attention Are you? Im seeing my identity being picked and prodded At an attempt to replace it with something that makes them comfortable Like calling me an oreo And I laugh because it's a compliment Of course it is When did a snack become the fuel for your bigotry? They said. “You're pretty...for a black girl” “No I'm pretty and I'm a black girl” “You talk….white” You can't see color but now, somehow, you can hear it? I'm not going to fake a smile Then bite my tongue Then bleach my skin And explain white i mean black privilege to bullet holes. Is this how they'll remember me Is this how they'll forget me Is this all that's left of me a eulogy Hand crafted at the end of me As I'm laid in a casket They said it was the gun But I don't know how to ask it… Why me??