My black is a starry night sky.
A love that cradles you and lifts you high.
A compass in the desert that gets you by.
An infinite departure that weighs more with each murmured cry.
My black is a forever thing.
I humbly accept all that may bring:
the stares and the glares from the hymns that I sing.
Life long debates for why my freedom should ring.
My black is my favorite track.
But the layers of my skin can’t fend off every attack.
With soul scars that take you on a journey with everything it can unpack.
But I got melanin from the womb and there’s no going back.
My black is my saving grace.
There’s strength in my essence from all that I face.
A well-mannered, breath easy, steady tortoise of a race.
Honing in on life to keep my black in first place.
My black is worthy of respect.
For the culture, the creations, and our every prospect.
Despite today’s world which can really neglect.
To pay homage to our original dialect.
My black is the armor, the shield and the sword.
A bolder hue on every accord.
Taking losses we can’t afford.
While grasping perseverance like an award.
My black is passionate and daring.
The warmth of the motherland for a hug in its caring.
Talent beyond February’s one month of sharing.
Gold just has to get used to the world staring.