TW: Suicide
Four easy steps,
She knew them by heart:
Wash, exfoliate, rinse, and apply.
The now half-empty bottle
She bought from Walmart
Was dedicated to all the nights
she cried
Was bullied
And depressed.
For the days
She tried to fit in with the rest
It was her dark skin to blame
For the reasons she was oppressed.
This half-empty bottle of skin lightening cream was for the pests:
The vampires.
They wanted her blood.
They haunted her
Day in
And day out
For having dark skin
And dark circles around her mouth.
For not meeting European beauty standards
And speaking with an accent from down south.
But when she tried to change
Into someone she was not,
Black people told her she talked “white”
Because she used the word “literally” a lot.
It didn’t help that people said she talked like a color.
Yet colorism still existed in her community
Like it was a part of the culture.
And so did promiscuity,
Which gave a more valid argument to label dark-skin
As impurity.
Even when she rolled the dice,
It didn’t matter which side it landed on
Because she wasn’t accepted by anyone.
Her identity was a mystery.
She did not know who she had become.
The vampires still haunted her
Day in
And day out.
They wanted her blood.
She felt like she was in the movie Get Out.
Rose had those damn keys.
She felt like she was faced with defeat.
Because Rose had the keys,
She couldn’t leave.
She was stuck between
Not a rock and a hard place
But a knife and skin lightening cream.
She didn’t want to hurt anymore.
She wanted to die.
With the knife in her hand
She counted down from the number Five.
Four.
She slit her wrist
Until she hit the floor.
The vampires smelled her blood,
A smell they couldn’t ignore.
So, they opened the door
And saw where she laid.
They sucked her blood
Like vultures.
It was the sweetest they had ever tasted.
They sucked until she was tasteless,
Breathless,
And dead.
They wished they could ask
What kind of blood that she bled.
For her blood wasn’t blood.
Her blood was the magic that she possessed
From being a darker shade.
It tasted like the cool-aid
Her grandmother made.
But, what kind of blood
Could make her produce juices so sweet?
There was no explanation
Except that she was magical
Like a flower that grew from the concrete.
A magic she didn’t even know that she held
Because it was never able to introduce itself
At her funeral her mother wrote her a farewell
And written in it was the phrase:
The blacker the berry, the sweeter the juice.
This poem is dedicated to all the Black women, especially dark-skinned Black women, who have felt that being Black was too much of a burden to bear. My message to Black women is do not feel pressured to change for society. Love the skin you are in because it is beautiful and unique. Don’t let society tell you different.
Originally, the main purpose of writing this poem was to bring awareness to Black people using skin lightening creams to meet European beauty standards. However, as my pen continued to flow, I addressed more than one issue in this poem.
First, colorism was addressed, which is definitely an issue in the Black community. I know as a lighter-skinned African-American female that I am more privileged than my darker-skinned counterparts, which shows that colorism is something that needs to be addressed.
Second, I mentioned the word promiscuity in this poem. Very often Black women are seen as sexual objects or ‘freaks” because of the way we are portrayed in the media. I wanted to bring awareness to the fact that Black women are way more than sexual objects, and we shouldn’t be stereotyped this way.
Third, depression is a big topic in this poem. Many times Black people are not allowed to be depressed growing up. Black families think Black people aren’t supposed to have suicidal thoughts. But in reality, Black people have mental health problems too, and it matters. It is a topic that needs to be addressed more in the Black community. If anyone feels like they need help, don’t hesitate to call the suicide prevention hotline: 1-800-273-8255
Fourth, it’s evident that Black women are magical, and some of us still do not know we have Black girl magic. It was time that all of us knew that we have this magic inside of us 💁🏾👑
Last, the vampires in the poem represent “culture vultures,” which are non-black people who want a taste of what it is to be Black, but don’t want to deal with the oppression we face. There are many other small topics I addressed in this poem, but overall, the main message in the poem is the blacker the berry, the sweeter the juice. Therefore, the more melanin you have, the more poppin’ you are, and don’t let anyone tell you it’s the other way around.
This article was originally published on December 25th, 2017 on Tumblr.