Black Privilege June 30, 2015 by Crystal Valentine Leave a Comment 1Share with your friendsYour NameYour EmailRecipient EmailEnter a MessageI read this article and found it very interesting, thought it might be something for you. The article is called Black Privilege and is located at https://thebodyisnotanapology.com/magazine/crystal-valentines-black-privilege/.CaptchaSubmitCrystal Valentine’s Black Privilege was posted on YouTube by Button Poetry and is reprinted by permission. Crystal Valentine is a performance poet studying Creative Writing and Adolescent Mental Health Studies at NYU. A member of NYU’s poetry slam team, she won first place at the College Unions Poetry Slam Invitation (CUPSI) in 2013 and 2015. She was a member of the 2014 Urban Word youth slam team and is the 2015 NYC Youth Poet Laureate. In this video, she performs her poem “Black Privilege” for the 2015 CUPSI finals. Transcript Black Privilege is the hung elephant swinging in the room Is the memory of a slave ship, preying for the Alzheimer’s to kick in Black Privilege is me having already memorized my nephew’s eulogy, My brother’s eulogy, My father’s eulogy My un-conceived child’s eulogy Black Privilege is me thinking my sister’s name safe from this list Black Privilege is me pretending to know Travyon Martin on a first name basis Is me using a dead boy’s name to win a poetry slam Is me carrying a mouth full of other people’s skeletons to use at my own convenience Black Privilege is the concrete that holds my breath better than my lungs do Black Privilege is always having to be the strong one, Is having a crow bar for a spine, Is fighting, even when you have no more blood to give Even when you have lost sight of your bones Even when your mother prayed for you Even after they’ve prepared your body for the funeral Black Privilege is being so unique that not even God will look like you, Black Privilege is still being the first person in line to meet him Black Privilege is having the same sense of humor as Jesus Remember how he smiled on the cross? The same way Malcolm X laughed at his bullet And there I go again, asserting my Black Privilege, using a dead man’s name without his permission I can feel his maggots congregating in my mouth Black Privilege is a myth, Is a joke, is a punchline Is that time a teacher asked a little boy what he wanted to be when he grew up and he said alive Is the way she laughed and said “there’s no college for that” Ignorance is the only thing that won’t discrimination against you, Is the only thing that don’t need a tombstone to learn your name And it’s tiring, you know, for everything about my skin to be a metaphor For everything black to be pun intended, to be death intended Black Privilege is the applause at the end of this poem Is me giving you a dead boy’s body and you giving me a ten 10 Is me being okay with that I tired writing a love poem the other day, but my fingers wouldn’t move My skin started to blister Like it didn’t trust me any more Like it thought I’ve forsaken it for something prettier Something smoother to wrap around my bones Like I was trading in my noose for a pearl necklace Some days I’m afraid to look into the mirror For fear that a bullet George Zimmerman-ed its way into my chest while I was asleep The breath in my mouth is weapon enough to scare a courtroom I’ll be lucky if I’m alive to make it to the stand For some people, their trials live longer than they do Black Privilege is knowing that if I die, At least Al Sharpton will show up to my funeral At least Al sharpen will mason jar my mother’s tears Remind us that the only thing we are worthy of is our death We are judged by the number of people it takes to carry our casket Black Privilege is me think that’s enough Is me thinking this poem is enough Black Privilege is this Is this breath in my lungs right now Is me Standing right here With a crowd full of witnesses To my heartbeat [Headline image: The photograph shows a black woman in profile against a brown background.] 1