Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Personal, politics, Writing

Black Girls In The White House

Back seat of the car,

I had almost forgotten that history was underway,

parked up by Asda,

thinking about strawberry laces,

while a race came to an end,

a race that was tied up in race,.

Breaking news on every station.

Hope had won!

That’s what they said anyway.

My grandad had it on the radio,

a calm voice,

that sounded like it wanted to shout,

but was restrained,

just as it had been trained.

Hope had won,

and I didn’t realise that I cared before,

but my grandad turned to the back seat,

where I was waiting for my compass to guide me.

My compass smiled,

said that a man just like me had won,

that hope had won,

that warring sides had found some peace,

found themselves in a man who had the best of both of them.

I smiled too,

on a path to understanding,

on a clear path,

where roses grew of all colours,

free and friendly,

stems embracing as I walked by.

The world was a rainbow,

the war was over,

a black and white man had won the White House,

and a black and white girl had heard about it,

from thousands of miles away,

and she felt so accomplished,

so ready to accomplish.

Of course,

that wasn’t the end of the story.

It never is,

never could be.

The roses died,

the path twisted and turned,

lights went out,

wars found a second wind,

and the rainbows faded.

My compass tried to guide me,

but I stopped believing,

wandering aimlessly,

trying to find that moment again,

when I felt like people would understand me,

even accept me,

and the world would be less hectic,

but it never came.

The story continues.


there are more girls like me,

seeing confetti fall down on a black Vice President,

a female black Vice President,

fought for by black women,

the leaders,

who are never listened to,

and we have another chance,

to let roses grow,

along clear paths,

for black girls to walk towards beautiful,

powerful images of themselves.

Let those girls see the confetti,

hide their excited eyes from the death threats that fall among it,

let them see the confetti,

and know that a path exists for them too.

Let them see the confetti,

don’t let them see the way the world tries to devour and destroy them,

just for tonight,

let them see the confetti,

let them see themselves at that desk.

Black girls in the White House.

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