When I turned on the TV this morning it told me it hated me. 

The rhetoric that spewed from political figures who are "whole-heartedly" supposed to be finding solutions 

for me and my community looked like a white-washed version of connecting to my people's "reality." 

If that wasn't bad enough the commercial that followed showed a baby who was made in my shade being 

silenced and used like a living room coffee table as though her voice wasn't meant to be broadcasted on 

daytime cable. 

Do you think she is not capable? 

I want to scream "take your elbow off her loc-crowned head and try bowing to a child of royalty," 

But realistically, who will even hear me? 

I constantly find myself apologizing to my ancestors and elders for not having found solutions for our 

ailments but I don't know how to help this.

If only it was as simple as the suggestive instructions given to us in an impossible game of limbo.

How low will you go to gain independence? 

The next thing you know people are on the knees attempting to slide under the oppressive thumbs 

pushing down on our nations.

They encourage them to be patient and keep scaling against the concrete because some day life will be 

sweet and you won't have to think about things like this. 

Like remember that old thing, something in your textbook on the 277th page about people like you 

possibly be enslaved? 

We didn't like that part of the story too much so we switched it up because honestly they were just hard 

working people who were colored, happy and nappy working for free for some man they never imagined 

they would ever see. 

I'd bet hard earned money to support the notion that they say they don't like that part of the story because 

to them those historical facts are fiction or mere dramatizations stationed in the black mind. 

Too bad I can't be sucker free like them and live in their utopian realm where these things never 

happened. 

Yesterday, those demons that MarShawn McCarrel ran away from by putting man made lead through his 

own head tried to take me too. 

They told me, like the TV, that they hated me. 

They hated that I speak up.

They hated that I rock a kinky puff. 

They hated that I told people my life matters. 

They hated that I defy black American stereotypes while trying to relearn traditional African patterns. 

They. Told. Me. They. Hated. Me.

And I could have went with them to end the pain.

And I could have went with them so I can stop questioning why this was the way I was made. 

And I could have went with them and accepted their claims. 

And I could have went with them but when I reached to take their hands I realized that I can't. 

I can't because he couldn't say no. 

I can't because so many black babies weren't allowed to grow. 

I can't because if I did I would never be able to add to the masses of voices trying to make them reap 

what they sowed.

And I can't because my story was meant to be told. 

So when the TV said it hated me I laughed accordingly. 

Got up, 

Hit my strut, 

Turned to the camera,  

And introduced myself. 

"Good evening, 

Most gracious salutations.

I am the face you've rarely seen 

But I'm here to change what your TV is saying."

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