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Enough

They said I wasn’t black enough.

They said I wasn’t black enough.

They said I wasn’t black enough
because the texture of my strands had been smoothen, free of the rough stuff
I was born with
but ultimately,
their judgement
wasn’t
worth
shit.

Their obsolent comment is now leaving me, but it took until I’d cornered 33 to see
the torrent of conversation that I repose is good,
even if it is chalked full of audible vowels and completely pronounced syllables.

I am able to now rescind, supercilious judgement and hateful grins,
from my sisters mostly, yes black women have judged me and said
“You aren’t black enough.”
And that is just tough, to take, my heart breaks and aches at those words.

They said “your school is white, neighborhoods packed with flaxen white girls in pig tails and lacy ivory tights.”
And I had always thought that was alright, but you decided we still couldn’t be tight.

And by the way, I’ve spoken this too before,
my big ass does not make me a whore.

I’d obviate it all together if I believed it would make me black enough — for you
Even though I ‘ve always been black, black as the spasmadic darkness of 1000 black midnights.
I’m so black jack, I sometimes don’t know how black to act.

Though agnostic and yoga inspired, I am a sista’ and I’m inordinately tired, exhausted of defending the obvious,
of accepting the unjust.

Some ladies should be jailed for non-support, of me.

Instead, I get curled lip stares and cut eyes
that glare and glower at me upon hearing my voice. I didn’t get that by choice either.
Black women should just rejoice with me, because at last of racist suffrage we’re growing free
and we are all descendants of the same god-awful black slavery,
yet there is so much begrudery,
from you and your perceived microscopic disposition over me.

Must I recite volumes of the blackest, black historyto be accepted as part of the WE?

Hell no, cause I already accept me
dispite your histamine personality determined to subjugate me to your position of hate.

See I have needed you ladies, more than I’ve ever needed a man.
Cuz you won’t fuck me, just bond with me in womanhoods majesty,
awesome tapestry and her few miserable responsibilities.
Don’t run from me. I am goofy, but not crazy.

I am black enough.

I was always black enough.
And us little black girls now grown up
into beautiful black women, we too can all Unite and win,
like the white women embrace each other and like they embrace our blackest,
black
men.

Copyright 2005 Yolanda D. White

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Page last modified on April 19, 2005

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