Black. Negro. Colored. 

I had someone tell me recently that they do not identify as Black because alignment with the word also meant alignment with all of its negative connotations. I declined to comment because this particular person would not have heard me anyway. But this morning I woke up thanking God for my blackness. 

I am the amalgamation of the spirit of absolute greatness. People who looked like me built this nation. Not only that, we did so under such horrible duress that it is nothing short of a miracle we survived. But we did because it was never in God’s plans for us that we would be extinguished. It was not then, and it is not now. We are buzzing with life force energy, how could we not be when our skin absorbs the sun? 

When I think of the courage of my people, Black people, I weep. We are amazing. We inspire awe and steal breath. We entertain and captivate. We defy gravity and have created the molds for physical prowess and perfection. Our hair stretches towards heaven. Our noses, broad though they may be, allow us to intake more of the creators power. Our lungs become filled with life and our bloodstream pulses with vitality. We are the prototype from which all others were modified. Make no mistake, it is us. It was us. It will always be Us. 

So really, it’s no matter what you call me. Black. Colored. Negro. African-American. I know what I am. I am magic. I am sunshine. I am source. I am Royal. I am life. And it is only to Life I will respond, all other is not my name and falls deaf on my ears. 

My wish for my people is that we begin to see our own magic. That we open our eyes to the wonder we hold and refuse to accept a reality that does not uphold what we Know of ourselves. I want to sing songs of my people for my people so that they may be uplifted and reminded of the splendor we embody. I want us to recall the God that dwells within us and throw our heads back mouth opened towards Oshun, feet wet in Yemayá and heart beating to one word: Ashe. 

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3 thoughts on “Black. Negro. Colored. 

  1. “I declined to comment because this particular person would not have heard me anyway.”

    Been there, done that too many times. *sigh* Sometimes you just have to power through it. I had a conversation with a Nigerian woman who works in my building who was confused as to why Black people need to research our ancestry because we’re Americans and it shouldn’t matter. Midway through she brings up the point that we shouldn’t call ourselves African-Americans because we aren’t “really from Africa.” It was so frustrating but I hope I planted a seed of misunderstanding. The way we divide ourselves is such a shame.

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