My black is offensive, I know.
You hate that I’m entitled, I know.
But when I walked into that theater show
I saw the tribal clothing, the Nubian skin, the afros.
These my peoples fosho’

Then I saw you.
I mentally pat you on the back saying “Kudos” for staying true
Happy that you were excited about this, too.
But then the masterpiece was revealed and the bonding ended before I even knew

R.I.P. to your burst bubble
Before, you thought we were trouble
This movie dragged us out the rubble
And had you colonizers seeing double.

Then, I had a wake up call
I never try to pick my people up when they fall
But this time Imma do something, ain’t no fly on the wall
I learned that if we can’t place blame on someone else, niggas go AWOL

So, let my words be your vibranium and your Wakanda my tongue
Because this division in the black community has gone on too long
And divided we fall but together we are strong.
Black Panther runs through our veins so let our oppressors be hung

Hung like W’Kabi hung his head before Okoye the black queen
Hung like the third eye passes down through my genes
N—a pick up your head like they picked up our culture by the seams
We own the fight-back culture n—a pick up your wings.

So, tell me brothers and sisters what is there to ponder?
Look over your shoulders
Look at the woke jokes the black face Tunda
Then look in front of you at me
Let my words be your Wakanda.

Alia, 17, attends Cristo Rey Atlanta Jesuit High School. The poem was inspired by the film “Black Panther.”

Photo: Marvel