There are many analogies given
To describe the life and existence of the black.
Black Man, Black woman, Black husband, black wife
Black love, Black power, Black struggle, Black life
But I will not claim these fleeting memes and moments of wit
That you may see as you scroll past life and into the vast empty
Pages of the Facebook of life.
No. I am not that.
I am not a seed. I have not been intentionally buried and unintentionally planted.
No. I am the soil. I am the air. I am the photosynthesis that makes what isn’t, intentionally here.
I am the fruit that nurtures you. I am not that.
I am not a life that matters. Black fist held high against the sky, Melanin popping, afro standing strong.
No. I am The life. I am The matter. I am the red blood running through your veins and through these streets.
I am the DNA, the night And day. I am the depth of the midnight sky as it merges into the expanse of the universe. Your stars twinkle in me. You see, your world revolves around you because I allow it.
You see, I am flava. I season life with joy and devotion and dedication and emotion.
I am literally all that and a bag of special seasoned plantain chips.
It’s like you can taste the movement of my hips.
My breasts are bursting with sass and finesse.
I am that tune you play in your head that brings a smile to your face and a tap to your feet.
I am heat. I am wasabi, I am sirracha, I am a bottle of Grandpoppy’s Red hot.
I can sizzle, I can burn, I can make you yearn for death or I can make you yearn for more. I am lava that pours over everything, devouring all, creating new.
I am beat. I add dance to the mundane and rhythm to the static. I am the baddam baddam dam that you hear in your soul when I walk down the street. You thought it was the slapping of my feet but no. It is the sound of your heart beat falling into step with me.
I am color. All color. It starts and ends with me. My shadow is the rainbow, my aura is the sun.
So if you don’t know, now you know that I am the One.