Spare me the b s.
Talking about, “we are all part of the human race” and “when I see your face, I don’t see your ‘race'”. To say, when you lay your eyes upon my skin, rich in melanin, warm tones of mahogany, like an absolute being, you don’t see all of this.
Are you blind? No, really are you blind, physically, as well as mentally. You must be blind. Because it baffles me that you’d choose to ignore the fact that regardless of what’s within, you treat us based on our skin.
You choose to ignore the wailing of my ancestors that has been unforgivably sewn into the fabric of my very existence. You choose to ignore the cries of babies whose skin were scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed to remove the dirt. Evil. Wicked. Bad. Relentless synonyms for black. Synonyms for me.
So my apologies if you thought your colour blindness would fix the problem. It won’t. My apologies if I’m shattering your colourless view of the world and you want me to stop, I won’t. My apologies if this is making you feel uncomfortable, but I’ve been feeling this way.
Now, if your delusion is an attempt to see all humans as equal. I understand, believe me. I understand. But such a world has come and such a world has gone. A little too late for such a grave mistake.
The real test for you today is to see my skin, acknowledge the difference, yet proceed to judge me for who I am. Don’t smother me with racialised expectations on how I am supposed to be, ’cause they say so on TV. I am my own person. Carefree, self-loving, well-travelled, intelligent black woman. And even if I wasn’t, see us all. Respect us all.
Hence, that is why I say, spare me the b s. See our regal tones. Let it soak in your eyes. Let the different shades of us, dance within your irises. Let the many ways we speak linger in your eardrum. Make no mistake, our skin is more than pigmentation, it represents how far we’ve come as a nation. Take note.
Yaa Yah 