Black Person's Burden

Apologies to Kipling (not really)

God bless the child that’s got its own,

the song says.

Oh, isn’t it so!

We’re past the point of being ‘buked and scorned.

We’re past the point of not knowing

our real names - our history.

We’ve been everything

From the top to the bottom.

Strange fruit, indeed.

From slavery to Crow,

To lynchings by the thousands,

We’re seen as America’s burden.

You can’t send us back to Africa.

You don’t want us for anything,

But singing, dancing, and sports.

Cooking, cleaning, and raising your kids.

We’ve heard about your burden.

You feel obliged to civilize and enlighten us.

What you really mean

is that

You feel it necessary

to enslave and bind us.

To castrate and deny us.

To reject and defy

Our humanity and self-worth.

Our achievements and accomplishments

Were made in spite of you,

Not because of you.

We are not your burden to carry.

We have our own to manage.

We have the pots and windows.

We make history and we’ve survived this long.

We are like you,

But not like you.

We would love you more if you let us.

But you’d rather use and forget us.

But we will survive,

Then thrive.

And live in peace,

Under the shadow of our own wings.

And know this.

We’re not your burden.

But we have a burden.

Our burden is you.