Princess Berry
June 28, 2020
Title: Change
I can’t change the color of my skin-
But you can comfortably bend your eyes when you look my way, knowing that if I say anything, I’ll never make it home.
I can’t change the color of my skin-
But you can call me the N-word, as long as you choose the one that ends with the “a” and not the “er.”
I can’t change the color of my skin-
But you can casually call the police anytime your life is “threatened,” and never think about the boy, no, the child, that is bleeding on your lawn.
I can’t change the color of my skin-
But you can get cornrows, twists, dreads, and call it a new style, as you watch a black person get fired for having their afro be too high.
I can’t change the color of my skin-
But you can shout “All Lives Matter,” or “Blue Lives Matter” without a moment of hesitation, without thinking about how America was built on the philosophy that Black lives were meant to be captured, chained, whipped, raped, tortured, experimented on, killed, mutilated,
forgotten.
I can’t change the color of my skin-
But you can avoid explaining to your kids that they can’t speak too loud in public, they can’t wear a hood, they can’t walk to the convenience store, they can’t expect to be loved by everyone, they can expect not to be accepted.
I can’t change the color of my skin-
But you can confess your love for black bodies, turn that love into an obsession, into a game, then become a ghost when those bodies turn into voices, pleading for mercy and justice.
I can’t change the color of my skin-
But you can kill a black trans woman, convince your soul that she had it coming, and freely walk without ever hearing about your crime on the news.
I can’t change the color of my skin-
But you can use the phrase, “I don’t see color,” as a defense mechanism when your “black friend,” tells you that they are offended by your brewing ignorance.
I can’t change the color of my skin-
But you can say “go back to Africa,” just so you can silence the so-called “villains” of your American fairytale.
I can’t change the color of my skin-
But you can start to recognize that I don’t need to, that We don’t need to, rather, We need space, We need freedom, We need you to listen, We need you to fight with us, We need to move, We need to march, We need to sing, We need to shout.
Because after all this time, we still have the right to happiness.
Because after all these years,
we still deserve change.
June 28, 2020
Title: Change
I can’t change the color of my skin-
But you can comfortably bend your eyes when you look my way, knowing that if I say anything, I’ll never make it home.
I can’t change the color of my skin-
But you can call me the N-word, as long as you choose the one that ends with the “a” and not the “er.”
I can’t change the color of my skin-
But you can casually call the police anytime your life is “threatened,” and never think about the boy, no, the child, that is bleeding on your lawn.
I can’t change the color of my skin-
But you can get cornrows, twists, dreads, and call it a new style, as you watch a black person get fired for having their afro be too high.
I can’t change the color of my skin-
But you can shout “All Lives Matter,” or “Blue Lives Matter” without a moment of hesitation, without thinking about how America was built on the philosophy that Black lives were meant to be captured, chained, whipped, raped, tortured, experimented on, killed, mutilated,
forgotten.
I can’t change the color of my skin-
But you can avoid explaining to your kids that they can’t speak too loud in public, they can’t wear a hood, they can’t walk to the convenience store, they can’t expect to be loved by everyone, they can expect not to be accepted.
I can’t change the color of my skin-
But you can confess your love for black bodies, turn that love into an obsession, into a game, then become a ghost when those bodies turn into voices, pleading for mercy and justice.
I can’t change the color of my skin-
But you can kill a black trans woman, convince your soul that she had it coming, and freely walk without ever hearing about your crime on the news.
I can’t change the color of my skin-
But you can use the phrase, “I don’t see color,” as a defense mechanism when your “black friend,” tells you that they are offended by your brewing ignorance.
I can’t change the color of my skin-
But you can say “go back to Africa,” just so you can silence the so-called “villains” of your American fairytale.
I can’t change the color of my skin-
But you can start to recognize that I don’t need to, that We don’t need to, rather, We need space, We need freedom, We need you to listen, We need you to fight with us, We need to move, We need to march, We need to sing, We need to shout.
Because after all this time, we still have the right to happiness.
Because after all these years,
we still deserve change.
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