You are so contradictory.

You love our features,

but your standards of beauty have been white-washed.

You chase after the girls who have them:

the big butts, the full lips,

but a fro is too much for you.

No, you chase after the girls

with the 3B curls.

Because deep down inside,

you’ve internalized the thought

that this hair that defies the world

has no beauty in it.

If you can get a girl who looks like us

without being us, you have hit the “jackpot.”

But if we call you on it,

you quickly jump to defend,

claim that you love black women,

you want to marry a black woman,

“there’s no shade.”

You say love has no color

(And I agree)

But tell me, if that was you

and not Philandro Castile

and Becky was at your side,

what would she do?

Would she tell you not to be afraid

when the cop pulls you over?

Tell you to comply with his wishes?

Claim, “Baby, there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

Because how can she know?

How can she understand?

When he shots you,

does she cuss him out?

Defy his commands and try to save you

because she knows that he won’t kill her.

After all, there’s a higher price for her blood.

Does she recognize how insignificant

the world has taught him that your life means to his?

Once you die, does she rally the world in your name?

Does she know, before they even come,

what the world is going to say about you?

That you deserved it

That you did something — anything — wrong

They’ll search your Instagram page and do a background check.

That unless she has evidence —

and even then,

they still won’t care

— your murderer will walk free

Will she think to record?

Will she use her privilege to try to stop the bleeding?

Will she save your life?

Or, at the end of the day and throughout life

when she bares your black children,

will she still claim

“It’s not about race?”

But love has no color, right?