My Identity, My Culture
Growing up black in the 90s, you were conditioned to succumb to the European social standards and almost forced to believe that having straight relaxed hair was the way to be fully accepted by all society. Yet, with this insatiable compromise came another form of ridicule…
A feverish temperature has taken over my body where piercing electricity is clear. I am restless, and I am not finding a conduit to sleep, thinking too hard and too deep. My current situation makes me weak. My mind is going in repeat. This soul is vulnerable but still hard to defeat. When will I engage with this thing called destiny? The paperwork is too hard to complete. Still, my dreams are what I seek and hope to meet.
‘Round town where the people are now. The same people form an overwhelming crowd. Where the masses can feel safe and sound. Honesty drips down my mouth and I shout an unpleasant bellow. Alas! The scene wasn’t so mellow, the original plan was to say hello to unfamiliarity, but apparently I failed miserably.
He is the monster that keeps haunting me, he is the one with the temper that is ghastly. I opened up and he tore me down. I am hesitant to make a sound, with him around. He beats me with his words until I am blue, I am sitting here in the corner not sure of what to do. How can I clean up this mess he made this time when no fight is within me? How can I heal entirely with him haunting my every move, preventing me to soothe and lick my wounds? Silence is where I am at so far, but not sure of what tomorrow will ensue.
I woke up broken. Used and discreetly abused, nobody got the clue, no one supposedly knew that I wasn’t at my best. But I stood out from the rest, they were jealous, jealous for the goal (or glow — -can’t decide yet) that was in my chest. They saw my beautiful mess, and were impressed. I put them to the test with my dark, fear took over them, and they became restless, and their tongue, sharp. Yet, I refuse to harp on the past. I am from the present. Here, I am sitting alone, cold and unknown with a fire raging from within. Who I am is apparently a sin, and they mustn’t see me win. Bets were planned to see me give in. That can never happen. My soul is a warrior and fortress that can withstand anything, anything that life sends. I was created for this.
Looking for some inspiration during these civil current events? Look no further, in this book of poems Just Give Me A Cool Drink ‘Fore I Diiie by Maya Angelou, gives it to you without a filter. The poetry is purely authentic and true to the black culture. The relatability is undeniable and you can feel what was she was writing as if you are living it yourself. It reveals the hurt and oppression that the black community has endured, and gives perspective on what is now being endured. As well as the strength that came from the pain. This is a good read, if life has you overwhelmed, this book will truly lift your spirits from the ground. Get you a copy ‘fore you diiie.