Here I go again, asserting my black privilege, using a dead man’s name without his permission.
Black privilege is a myth.
Is a joke.
Is a punchline.
Is the time a teacher asked a little boy what he wanted to be when he grew up and he said ALIVE.
And the way she laughed when she said there’s no college for that.
It’s tiring you know.
For everything about my skin to be a meaphor.
For everything black to be pun-intended, to be death-intended.
Spoken word poem by Crystal Valentine entitled “Black Privilege.” (CUPSI 2015 FINALS)