Growing Up Black

The worst part
about growing up black
isn’t wanting white girls
who have fathers with heavy fists.

Or that your history is washed away
by old white men
who carry confederate flags on Sunday.

It isn’t that the weight of your existence
follows you like poverty
or that pain is assigned to you at birth.

And it isn’t even knowing
when a cop shoots you in the back
with your open hands raised to the sky,
it’s your fault for being black.

The worst part
about growing up black
is knowing your children will suffer
through the same blackness as you.

And while you try to prepare them,
no one is ever ready to wear this skin.

By David M. Taylor

Biography:

I teach at a community college is St. Louis, MO. My work has appeared in various magazines including Trailer Park Quarterly, The Harrow, and Anthology, as well as upcoming in Misfit Magazine. I also have three poetry chapbooks—M&Ms and Other Insignificant Poems, Two Cobras in a Ritual Dance, and Life’s Ramblings.