Fighter

I can’t imagine any other little black girl sitting in her room Waiting to be a grown up

just so that she can have some agency in this tension she’s feeling

this tension that wraps her like a constricting blanket of concentril circles

of spaces where she belongs…where she should belong

I dont imagine any little black girls dreamed they would have a career, a family, a tighr knit group of friends— and also a need to step into each space ready to advocate and fight

Back then, we didn’t dream of becoming Social Activists.

We dreamed of being.

So I don’t WANT to fight every day although, some days

I do want to.

But that is part of existing in my skin

in skin no thicker or harder or less vulnerable

than yours

I fight because I see my young black friends

and I see their eyes,

their response expressions in the workspace

and I know what it feels like

Like everyone around you has something…something you can’t tap in to. It’s in their voice- the tone. It’s in their posture, their confidence, their joy. It’s in their every motion. You see it everywhere all day, on TV, in magazines, books, advertisements. You see this something like a visible feeling.

And though you may exude the same energy- it’s different. And its perceived as different. And its treated different.

And that’s when you know

You are a fighter.