017_Black Roses

If all roses of all shades matter, why do mine matter least?

Black roses

Tell me, have you ever seen a rose with black petals? There is something so alluring, something so inviting, something almost awe-inspiring about the absence of color its petals possess.

How the vibrant color is filled with a subtle sort of... emptiness.

How can something be so beautiful yet void of any color?

I guess this all falls to how we see the color black and the fact that black is not the absence of color but the combination of all colors taking one form.

It takes everything for black to be born. So why are we taught to hate something so complex?

The gist of this is the “quote-unquote” privilege of being born black in America.

Having the privilege of people love your culture but not you.

it feels like people love the aesthetics of the color black on everything but humans.

I mean, perhaps it does have its pros;

Like always being choose first for sports of all sorts, I’ve never played nor have ever been good at but the fact that I’m black tends to override that

Or always being looked at as a beacon and a gatekeeper of rap as if my music taste doesn’t expand into bands

Or the fact that some of the music I love lacks the color black, yet its roots are darker than me

I mean this is an objective truth really

Every day I watch my culture push a country forward while others ride for free, while we have the privilege to be born in an era with short term memory taught that 400 years is not a long enough time to hold on to pain.

The privilege to create styles I’ll never have money to afford

Melian making brands famous that are faceless as tiny Splashes of color hit a runway

Hood murals de framed, these things making me a refugee in my community

Because my culture doesn’t fit the aesthetic of your gourmet mayonnaise shop, I mean yogurt,  yogurt shop.

The privilege of being the strongest supporters to a figure that doesn’t look like them

The privilege to create history with every dance move we make. With every song we create, only to have our image erased and put in place a more pleasing face for the masses to digest

The privilege of being strong enough to carry a nation on our shoulders for more than 400 years. The privilege of never having been burned by the sun, my skin only kissed.

This gift, I’ve never quite understood it until I started to see it on other bodies and hear A.A.V.E. on their tongues; When I was taught to code switch and taught the privilege of having to learn a second language. Because my native tongue doesn’t fit with those who only know the Kings' English.

Tell me, If all roses of all shades matter, why does mine matter least? Question? Have you ever seen a rose with black petals? Would it still smell as sweet? Would you seek it as a token of love in favor of else? Tell me when I see the beauty of black roses should I see the beauty of self? Or just the privilege it provides the garden.