When i hear the words "another black teen"
I can't help but think about my two black boys
You see I struggle with cultural identity
No, not by force, by hope
No, not packed on a ship, by plane
No, not from the mother land of my ancestors
From the land of hardships
Green lands where the sun shine glistens against the slapping of waves onto the shore
The land where mountains are blue and you, you reap the exports of our beauty
Sipping strong coffee with no appreciation of our melanin
Distinguishing turns distinguished teens to another black teen
Blind discrimination perpetuated by fear
Black, code word: suspect
Another black teen could be the description of my black boys;
Two African American boys, born to a Jamaican mother with a perpetual cultural struggle
I have too much pride of heritage and culture to be average
The daughter of Nanny of the Maroons I ask no one for my freedom
I walk with an unapologetic air of entitlement through the hood and the suburbs
I dare you to cut me down and spill my freedom into the streets
I might not believe in reincarnation but I would come back that day to enslave the crevices of your mind for the sake of my sons
Another black teen, born to be free to a free mother who went further to self liberation
Born to be above your description and beyond average
Selfishly I pray that everyone living in fear of "another black teen" would memorize the beautiful contours of my boys faces
Memorize the length and signature of their stride
Know the melody of their voices
The way it penetrates my heart
To praise God for the life they will live
I cry because the loss of another black teen hits too close to home
I cry to ignite the rage of a mourning mother
A mother who will stop at nothing for Justice
I cry, I cry, I cry for you to hear the shrill of my screams and rise up!!
I cry, I cry, I cry the cry of a maroon warrior!!