You Don't Know the Struggle by Unapologetically Pam

For every person who attempts to replace "black lives matter" with "all lives matter" or take the "afro" out of my "American"
You don't know shit about the struggle...

You don't know what it is
To see a reflection of yourself constantly portrayed as the enemy,
But for us, this is centuries in the making.

This is for the Sarah Baartman's of the diaspora,
The Nat Turner's, fighting to break free.

Cause you don't know shit about the struggle...
The body of the black woman seen as too sexual, 
While the body of the black man hangs from trees, 
and lays dead in the streets at the hands of the police.

You don't know shit about the struggle...
Cause although we were brought here in chains, 
You say we're the ones to blame for the state of oppression in this western game.

And when we speak out against the system,
We're too black, 
too symbolic of everything you don't want to think about.

You'd rather sweep hundreds of years of brutality under the rug.

But you don't know shit about the struggle...
When you hate us but everything about our culture is appropriated for your mainstream consumption,
Hashtagging "the struggle is real" or "I Slay" but
It's mine.

Yeah, you don't know shit about what it means when we proclaim our sensuality and sexuality as a black woman in a white man's media world, 
only to be hypersexulized, type-casted, and slut-shamed for the very same brown body that sends you running to tanning salons and plastic surgeons

Yet, you don't know shit about the struggle.
When black dances, black words, black style, black music, black bodies
Are the new norm, 
as long as they're whitewashed on television shows.

And you attempt to silence the outcry from black entertainers
in your need to feel justified by bringing up the Stacey Dash's of the world, who would rather forget the struggle
OR your "black friend" who agrees with you.

Shut the fuck up with your nonsense, your ignorance.

Cause the truth is, you don't know shit about the struggle.
The struggle for representation, 
For consolation,
For reparation.

And does your black friend agree with being slaughtered in the streets?
Being targeted, raped by those sworn to "protect and serve"
Whispering, "I can't breathe..." while your murderer goes free?

And how dare you tell me to calm down,
To get over it,
As if my blackness can be assimilated into your canvas with no open spaces for my carefree curls and curves.

See you don't know shit about the struggle.
Because you live within a system that benefits your blatant ignorance,
That allows you to pin the blame on the oppressed,
Who struggle to lift themselves up from the weight of 400+ years worth of rusted, enforced chains.

But you don't know shit about the struggle. 
You don't know why we need them...the voices of the voiceless. 
The Cam Newton's.
The Beyonce's.
The Kendrick Lamar's.
The Denzel Washington's.
The Michelle Obama's.
The Lupita N'yongo's.
The Taraji P. Henson's.
Because our little black boys and girls need to see something, someone who is a reflection of their skin in your gladiator arenas.
The beautiful, the tragic, 
The DABB and the defeat,
The fall and the rise.
The setback and the clapback.

But you don't get that, do you? 
Cause you don't know shit...

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