Student Author Spotlight: Essence Owens

On her inspiration for writing this piece, Essence said, “There is not a pin that I can point as to why I have been inspired to be outspoken on inequality in general. But I can say that in today’s world love is very needed and although hate is still a big
part of our community, I believe the more who speak on the subject, the more who understand
it. Me and many others understand communication is key to learning everyone’s differences and
similarities and when we learn to use culture and our backgrounds for the better we will finally
be able to unite as one.”

Back On Black by Essence Owens

“Negros.” A phrase said by a white male a phrase that holds years and years of history, a phrase that shows the pain of our ancestors, a phrase that concludes what America is. Racist, no it will never go away and yes we understand this. But the complexion of my skin is not dangerous, the reflection of my voice is not hood, Not all minority family’s lay there back on the gutters. The fight for my freedom is not a joke, the rave of these killings are not for Heve, the cries of God’s people flow like a river until they hit a dead end. The end of where colors collide, where we are all accepted for who we are. When we are enough for the society that we live in, where perfect is not clear skin and ivory checks. When? I could ask this question every day but the answer is unclear, when will the day come where America’s back won’t be turned on black, where streets are not compared to a torture mechanism, where our homes are not as deadly as zoo’s, where the cars we drive look like the pit to hell. Every. single. day the sky is praised for being blue but we kick the dirt. Where brown is the ugliest color on the color wheel, and is only beautiful with lushes curly hair and pretty reflective eyes. No I am not dark skin but why should that stop me from spreading the word. Black people are turned on each other, jokes about light skin, jokes about brown skin and dark skin but yet we expect respect from the Caucasian with the pretty blue eyes and wavy blonde hair. We cry when a boy or a girl of a different race calls us pretty for “our skin color”. Why are we upset we can’t seem to respect ourself, we go out but not before we straighten our hair layer our clothes and put on a pretty smile. We can’t embrace ourselves why would someone else. Look at the mirror your frizzy afro and brown eyes spread more love then anyone could know but they bottle up every scream and tear you held in just to not be called “the angry black person”. Slick back your hair into a presentable bun and throw on a fitted suit, put on your heels and get ready to work at the job that does not pay enough for you to afford a treat but only to suffer and worry about rent, about the next meal. A paycheck that causes us to shed tears. When we look at ourselves we are ashamed as if we weren’t molded by god with a gentle touch so perfect and unique. How dare you call yourself ugly and cry about your cocoa skin, the last drop you wipe off your face to go out in public again and pretend that America has gotten somewhere to pretend you feel love and to pretend you are protected. Actors, they get paid millions of dollars, work in great films, but a black person can barely make a career out of the street art inspired by the horror we went through as a child. A career that causes more dread Then working for the white boss, you continue to work hard for what you want  but undermine the power that you hold, the love that your share is no where close to the amount that you receive. Today and tomorrow combine as glue and paper stick together, your heart burns like an ice cream cone melting in the sun. But you can not let yourself wither away to a dark closed hole covered by the makeup in your bathroom sitting on the sink next to the empty boxes of tissues. Your whines turn into tears and your tears turn into intoxicating screams, but that phrase, will not whey the black community down so far that a feather holds the weight of a brick so no you are not worth more than us and you are not worth any less love comes from the heart not the color of our skin the traits that our figure hold should determine our future not the way the sun hits us we are fighting and will not stop until freedom is given to those who have fought and to those who deserve love, the black male get killed on the streets daily due to police brutality and black women are there to heal and protest, but you sit there and call black women ugly and ghetto as if your mothers skin wasn’t dark, as if she didn’t fight to get food in front of you and clothe you just so you could grow up and act like a little boy. You have no right to call black women ugly, turn around your mother is holding you up to support the Career that you choose, is that ghetto to you? Who are you to say white women look better and black women look dirty, well the dirty black women that raised you that walked you to your first day of school that got fired because of the skin the she was born with, you are not a man you are a boy, a child that has no heart and is useless. A man is someone who supports a woman of any weight and height or color, to a man our figure is worth less to him then our personality. Love is the key to life no matter what you look like  and without respect the black community will fall apart and bend down like a dog to the white man who owns the big business, the white man who scoffs at the thought of  black women making a life for her children. But that one little boy she fought for grew up and scuffed at black women the way the big white business man did.