Written By RaShaunda Lugrand
Written As RaShaun D. Ellison
There is no way for me to apologize for being Black. …
For caring about what being Black means in the social classifications of this world.
The stereotypical ideas around a smart Black.
The being too educated to be Black.
Then being a Black woman.
Having to mother three Black sons.
And loving on my strong Black husband.
My Black Sister.
My hope is in Black consciousness.
Walking the tightrope of not being too black. Versus not being Black enough.
Even being light skinned Black.
Or too dark skinned Black.
Unapologetically I find favor in being this kind of Black.
My love is surrounded in a big ball of blackness called dark matter.
I lived in a Black womb
I came from a Black mother.
The seed of a Black father.
Where my maternal grandmother was a Blackfoot Indian.
So my mitochondrial DNA comes in the form of Black Natives.
My soil is Black.
My roots are Black.
My mental vibrational frequency is ultrasonic Black.
A strawberry glazed moon beam Black.
Black dick and balls.
My daddy’s name is Mac type Black.
My momma’s thick thighs and ass type Black.
Full lips and curly hair kind of Black.
Might not be the Black like you know Black.
But I’m the Black like I know Black.
The tell the truth kind of Black.
The artistic expressionist kind of Black.
Scribe tribe Khemetic Black.
Daughter of the Nile.
Feather weight totem pole dancing kind of Black.
Water and herb libation pool Black.
Master builder white sands Black hands.
Olmec Black. 11x11x11x11x11x11x11x11x11x11= Black.
King Khufu Black.
Ancestral homeland to the time of now Black.
Social media hype.
Not a Nigger.
Positive feedback for the beauty of what’s Black.
But then again…
Ain’t we all!?!?!?