“White Washed: An American Experience”

By: Yemaya Moon and Sol

Yemaya Moon

Dear America,
 I am the prototype for all women of all nations
In my very hands I’ve birthed, nurtured, and cradled civilizations
 But when you look at me tell me, what do you see? Let me guess misrepresentations that don’t even rightfully fit me
Stereotypes like trap Queen, hood rat, and Bon Que Que
None of these titles or names exemplifies my essence, you see I was once a free born Queen.
 Free from the shackles and chains that clutched my ankles the moment my royal feet washed ashore on these sands
You see I was captured from home, separated from my people, and stolen from my land
 And I was expected to carry it all without resistance, heart ache, or fears
So I sculpted an invisible crown, forged with ancestral power; reoccurring pain; and silent tears
 And like a Queen I carried and wore that crown century after century after century after century of abuse
You see I carried it when my glorious body was taken for the will of my oppressor’s misuse
 I carried it while slaving in the fields and in the big houses from sun up until sun down
Laboring, only to give suckle to the madam’s baby, while having to neglect and even ripped from my own infant so sweet and brown
I Carried it while being forced to lay still while the massa rape me repeatedly, ordering me to keep quiet and to not make a sound
 Yet like a Queen, I carried it through the systematic destruction of my family and home
While working two and three jobs just to make ends meet, still having to conjur up a meal using scraps and bones
And America you tell me the only way to get assistance with feeding my children is to rid my home of my King and to stand alone
 Still I carried it like a Queen, throughout the mass incarceration and slaughter of my men and sons
A systemic result from the infusion into our neighborhoods of your dope and guns
All which forced me to become the head of my community, because you’ve turned our men into inmates and ex-cons
 Now as a victim of PTSD (Post Traumatic Slave Disorder), I’ve become strong, independent, and bold
But America has labeled me as loud, angry, and waxed cold
Turning a blind eye to the mistreatments and injustices I’ve carried like a crown from the days of old
 You see although you removed the shackles from my feet, you took them and chained my mental view
And through your educational system and programming you taught me that I was not beautiful unless I act like, talk like, or look like you
So piece by piece you erased my inner God like state, leaving an empty shell easy to control and to subdue
 This is because America, you realized the power that poured from my crown so you sought to take it through calculated precision
And generation after generation you’ve watered me down through capitalism, materialism, and religion
And now as I stand here all alone, I realize I’ve been alienated through your plans to conquer through separation and division
 America, I was so distracted trying to assimilate into your world, I did not take notice that you had penetrated mine using my very own key
And once inside you destroyed, killed, and sold my self-worth and dignity away from me
All the while convincing me I could carry this crown alone without the strength of my beautiful Black King.


I often reminisce the sun piercing my ancestors’ skin…. Burning, like their desire to be free. And now daily I have the curse of having to fathom the slave media piercing our brains like the sun. My crown as a king is now being downgraded to a fitted cap or a snap back when it used to be a straw hat. America told me who I wasn’t to make me forget who I was… A deity with no leniency definitively indisputable… but that’s also something you should know about yourself the more you grow. Unless you weren’t told… Which many of us are never… Hypnotized by the here and now because we have no basis of back then. Categorized by criminals in suits that call themselves politics, the very ones sucking the life out or a country we were tricked and forced to give life to. Separated, not by marriage but by law from our queens in the house so we are left to wonder, who holds them at night? My kids left with no direction, be the moral compass just keeps on spinning. And I am either imprisoned or stifled by the system to make nickels or a dime bag. Sagging and nagging, constantly bragging on my shoes because that’s all I have been taught to do. I was never taught to put my mind to use… Yet America still tells me to be successful because there are no excuses even though because of my environment I remain clueless. Clueless of my power. Ignorant of my eminence. Doubtful of my dominance. You sold a dream at no cost to my forefathers. I know they are deeply saddened I am still paying the price today


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