Dear America

My poem to America. Signed- A black woman.

Found in my poetry book MADE.


Dear America.

My skin color should not be the center of your racial narrative.


The pigmentation of my skin does not define what’s within.

Nor my intelligence, my class, my worth, or how I should be treated.


I am a woman; I hold the power of the population.


It is I that has the capability to birth the nation. It is these goddesses right here with the power of procreation.


Yet it is WE who remain stigmatized, underrepresented, disrespected, unequally treated in social and economic circumstance.

But they love to see us dance.

They love the sway of our hips.

The foundation in this.

The fullness of our lips.

The magic that radiates from our soul.

Our character. Our bold.


You love everything black but black.

Black women. Our men. Our sound. Our crown. Our innate power to fight.

Our rhythm.

Our might.

We are power America.

Do you know what it means to be black? Black in America


It means learning every day that you are a problem for nothing more than merely being born with brown skin.


It means sitting in class and debating if you should point out errors in the lesson or sit and learn the lesson that you can’t trust the systems compiling the lessons.


Institutional racism. Let’s not play dumb and let us not let them, leave us numb.


It means trying to figure out how not to hate yourself while navigating through a society that hates you.


The origin of man is black.

Not an opinion, just stating facts.

And man came from women.

So, no I’m not your bitch, your hoe, your thot, your slut, no face, big butt, your trophy to stunt. I am woman. I am a black woman.


I was made in the image of God.

A woman beauty innate.


I am a symbol of power and strength. I’m not here as your fetish or to be sexualized, not prioritized.


I’m here to fight for unity, love, equality and peace.

I’m your mother, your sister, auntie, cousin, I’m your niece.

America, I birthed you