I saw

I was a little black girl, blind and free

colour was just colour and humans were human.

The world looked so free, but I didn't notice the chains

The people so happy, but I didn't see the tears.

The world to me was mixed

The world to me was human.

Growing up, I was blind but my vision cracked colour was mixing and I was wondering,

The people spoke in tongues

The world was moving, her chains were loud my head hurt too much. My eyes were opening. The sun burnt.

While I was growing up the world appeared to me, the chains still invisible, my eyes half open. The colours ruining?

My whole life I was black. I knew blackness, naturalness, freedom, black was strong, running through my veins and my earth.

The soil looked like me, the beaches looked like me, the people looked like me. The sun embraced me, hued me darker, kissed me deeply.

As I grow up… I know I am black. I notice I am black. I am black… African American they call black.

No.

I am black, blood of blackness, skin in love with the burn of the sun. I see colour, they see poison. Tainting their starkness. Their possession. Thieves of a nation. Liars of history. Black makes sense. Black is me. Black doesn't ruin, it enhances. The richness of our roots.

I'm considered grown. The world is diverse, the chain rattle around her. Thick black bulky metallic restrains. Rusted from centuries of enslavement. She bleed black, cried white, hurt coloured and prayed mixed.

I am grown… they say. Coloured, and black. I can never save her, for she gave her life for us.

Once I was blind. Then I saw colour. I loved the mix, now I question my sight and pray for blindness. As a child I saw only black being black and colours beside it. Now, I see the ruined, the mixed, the coloured. The black.

I fear the light for it shuns sight on us. But I adore the darkness for it cloaks me with my colour.

I was blind. I see blurred. I cry for earth, cause she felt all.