Erasure

I feel like I am too Black.

Like I could melt into the shadows

without being seen or missed.

And when I step into the light

I shatter the utopia that I live in.

One of suburban houses

full of ‘woke’ people

who have picket signs in their lawns

proclaiming how progressive they are.

I have entered into a place

where the schools don’t celebrate Black History Month

and people are fine with that.

I would say I am upset, but I think I am more than that.

This anger of mine has no place to go. 

So instead I change my grimace into a smile

perfectly crafted over years of practice.

The kind of smile that reassures white people

that my rage will not burn the fucking house down.

The kind of smile that makes me smaller

and allows them to keep moving like we are doing okay. 

We are not okay.

I have tried to tell you that. 

You are okay. 

I am the okay without the O, K, A, and Y.

Which is to say, some days I feel like the backspace button;

I never contribute to moving forward.

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