To my future children -

These 2 poems are written to my hypothetical future children. The first is titled, “Dear future child” and I originally wrote it in 2018 as a part of a play put on by Penumbra Theater. The second, titled “An Ode to my Future Son” was inspired by the first, and was originally written in 2022. 4 years have passed and yet the same themes can be seen throughout both. As a 15 year old, I was equally afraid for my life, for the lives of other black children, and for the lives of the children yet to come, as I was when I was 18. This should not be something I or anyone should have to think about or fear. Something is fundamentally wrong with our society and people are still not listening. Why am I afraid to bring children into this world?

Dear future child,
I try to pave a path easy for you to walk.
I dig it deep but not too deep it would fall in.
I dig it smooth so as not to hurt your feet,
but you see my child,
every time I take a scoop it seems
five more fill my previous path.
The path of my parents
it guarded me and protected me.
It winded up and down,
allowing me to explore the world
but not see anything that would hurt me.
That path only recently came to an end.
Signaling, it is my time
to choose
where I want to go,
my time to dig a path that wraps
round and round,
up and down
but you see, it's hard
when you know the amount of scoops you're taking
isn't even half the amount being put back in.
When a white teacher says, "All brown kids look alike, right"
5 scoops
When a white friend say a classmate told her she was acting too black.
5 scoops
Whats acting black? If i'm not acting black does that mean I'm acting white?
5 scoops
Is my race, the color of my skin or is it more than that?
5 scoops - I'm stuck.
I am stuck, and I am lost
not knowing where I came from or where I'm going
My future child,
I want the path I pave for you to be free from
bullying and mistreatment,
guns and killing,
walls and bans.
But most of all,
I hope the path you walk down leads you and others
to an even more
successful future.

An Ode to my Future Son -
Death will kiss you lips
and the world will
spit at your feet,
from the moment you draw
your first breath.
They can not
and will not
understand your beauty,
for they are blinded by
their ignorance
and fear your power.
Your smooth skin,
painted black
by the most expensive paint,
made especially for you,
is both a blessing and
a curse.
Even though
society will prevent you
from seeing it,
you are magnificent.
Freckles and birthmarks,
will decorate your skin,
creating a personalized map.
Your imperfect curls
will be kinked and coiled
by the hands of your ancestors.
Upon learning of your existence,
though it would tear me apart,
I would want nothing more than
for you to die.
How can I bring you
into a world that
already hates you?
But the truth is
they need your beauty,
your strength,
and your intelligence
even though they can't see it yet.
Us simply living
every day,
in our elegant ebony
and almond tones
is resistance.
Giving birth to you
is my protest.
So,
though the world is undeserving
you will bless this land
and these people
with the gift
of your undeniable
blackness.