We can tell stories of empires, riches and geniuses, from another continent

Of warlords, of art, and of culture from another land

Or we could tell the stories of chains, whips, and boats
Of a people packed into tight ships going to a so-called new world

Because that’s my history

We could tell stories of a cultural Renaissance in Harlem, of smooth jazz, and popular dance
Of a people who revolutionized culture despite their troubled future 

Or we could tell stories of lynching, murder, and discrimination,
Of a people who were slaughtered for just. Being people.

Because that’s my history

We could tell stories of a King, of a minister, of a leader, who told us we were free at last
Of a prophet that marched to our freedom and let freedom ring 

Or we could tell stories of a King that was slain on his motel balcony, a Malcolm who was betrayed by his people, of riders buried for vying for freedom

Because that’s my history 

We could tell stories about so many things, so many people, so many places,
That my people with dark skin, curly hair, and determination that can move mountains built 

Or we could tell stories about a brother who’s life was choked out of him, a sister who was gunned down in her own home, of a jogger who was chased down just for getting exercise 

Because that’s my history 

We could tell stories about the will, determination, and cries of a people
With their dark skin and their curly hair that despite their skin tone can light up an entire room

Why? Because that’s my history. And no matter good or bad, the ugly or the pleasant, I wouldn’t want it told any other way

Above artwork by Kalea Fresh, 15, who attends Parkview High School