Having black skin ain’t a crime.

Black skin ain’t a weapon.

Big men sit behind desks
Plans to force assimilation and erase
Mapped out and stuck
Jumbled but precise
Toy soldiers, plastic and empty
Propped up against a wall
Reel them up and send them out, ready to destroy. Ready to steal and rape and murder.

II.

According to some, this isn’t crime. These men aren’t armed with weapons of privilege and boots and guns and minds fueled by thoughts of dominance and greed, and disregard.

But black skin ain’t no weapon. It ain’t no tornado, ripping roofs off houses, blowing people away.

III.

It is a shield.
From the sun, from the pain that comes from simply having it.

Eventually you find other people with shields on their backs and arms and you form a protective wall, armed with patience and love and ready to take on what hits.

Can’t you see that black skin ain’t a weapon?

Black skin is beauty. Black skin is culture and with it comes years of struggle and pain but centuries of tradition and virtue. Black skin is passion, it is art and is crafted carefully, perfect and special in its own right.

Black skin makes a statement. It says “I am here, and I am staying. You will not push me away. I will not disappear. I am here, and I will be here forever.”

It is not saying “I am a criminal, and I want to hurt you”, despite this being what people claim to hear.

Black skin is not you against me, or “I am better than you”. Black skin is not scary. Black skin is not crime, black skin is not privilege, black skin is not weakness, black skin is not toxicity.

Black skin is a blessing. It is not burnt or charred. It is not ruined. It is glowing and it radiates the brightest light.

Black skin is skin. It is skin like mine and yours. And it is here to stay.
 

*The opinions and ideas expressed are solely those of the author, and do not reflect the opinions of The Bronx Brand*

Lu Perez is from the Eastchester section of the Bronx but currently resides in the Fordham area.  Being Latina and growing up in a predominantly Hispanic/Latinx community in the Bronx has been a great influence in the way she writes. Her appreciation for her Dominican heritage comes through in Lu’s work. From the slang, the open fire hydrants during the summer, the sticky streets and booming music have become pieces in the puzzle that forms Lu’s identity; these are the experiences that have had a profound effect on the way Lu perceives the rest of New York, and the world.

Be sure to follow her on instagram: instagram.com/afro.latinaa