My Black American Identity

My identity has been calculated into a falsity. Masked by a formality that my culture is “black”. If I come from a sadist who raped, tortured and mutilated me because I was that. My culture is technically the very opposite of “black”. They gave me Jesus to praise, the scraps of pigs to eat, shacks with no running water to raise my family, and yet I blame my real ancestry for selling me..

So when I’m offended by Africans saying all black Americans do is make an excuse but accept my culture as rap, chicken, big butts, and the blues. Is it that hard to understand that once again my identity has been calculated by the “white man”.

I promise I’m the furthest thing from militant. I love the diversity that comes with being “American”, but when I’ve allowed that to outweigh where I come from there lies the problem. You see, my teacher tells me I come from slavery, and momma tells me I come from African kings and queens. While my society illustrates me as a sexual being. I’ll always be confused on who to believe. My identity has been shaped by a society that doesn’t view me as worthy. While dealing with my people who shun me as soon as I don’t believe what they believe. I’m left with confusion about who to be. Having the belief that there’s some superiority and hierarchy within people because they differ from me. So again, my identity has been calculated into a falsity. Masked by a formality that my culture is “black”. When in fact My Black American Identity is the very opposite of that.