What you feel: intimidation.
My articulation: respectful and precise.
What you hear: frustration.
My appearance: often casual, but comfortable.
What you see: a poor man.
My logic: rational and competent.
What you hear: a liar.
My emotions: real and potent.
What you perceive: anger.
To all that you have presumed and tried to make me be
Has nothing to do with who and what I am;
But it has everything to do with who you truly are,
Under the pretense of who you try to be
And what you represent—
Not my issue.
My existence—it's not for you to manipulate
So that you may feel safe and comfortable,
Or think that you've accomplished some good in a world
That you knowingly feed with indignant apathy.
Your fears, and biases and insecurities, and superiority complex,
And territorial grand standing—
Just not my issue.
You have no right to rob me of my emotions
And thus steal my humanity
With labels to the likes of "angry black man" or "strong black woman",
As to make it justifiable to kill me in the streets
Or as to suggest I should accept the bullshit you serve.
It's just not my issue!
Has your history taught you nothing?
