I remember how you dismissively turned your back towards me while I poetically articulated the dinity, strength, and beauty of black people.
I am not the miseducated person you thought I’d be.
I’ve read how you enslaved, raped, and lynched black people and how confident you felt that we’d never fight back.
We’re no longer the people you trained us to be.
I’ve learned how you beat us and brandished your guns when we integrated your schools and other public places.
We’re not the monsters you feared us to be.
I’ve heard how you’d tense up and recoil in revulsion whenever our beautiful black skin touched yours.
We’re not the cursed and diseased people you portrayed us to be.
I saw how disappointed you looked when you saw me studying in my cell instead of slashing my wrists.
I am not the person you hoped I’d be.
I peeped that smirk on your face after you sentenced me to life in prison because you thought I’d just give up and not fight for my freedom.
I am definitely not the person you expected me to be.
I am Ida B. Wells, Frederick Douglas, Harriet Tubman, Buchy Carter, George Jackson, Ahed Tamimi, and Sandra Bland all rolled into one.
I am exactly the person my Ancestors wanted me to be.
Black Lives Matter!
All Power to the People!