Please don’t ask me to speak for my race. Like somehow I was imbued with the power of omnipotence and omnipresence, 

Like my experience is THE quintessential experience of Blackness.

While I know I contain multitudes, I cannot possibly represent the depth and breadth of how Blackness and Black identities have been lived through our ancestors and through the rich diversity that is our community. 

Please don’t ask me to be your “safe Black”  Your “exception.” 

Your “Get-out-of-racism-free card,” 

Your “But-I-have-a-Black-friend/colleague/neighbor”…

…That justifies your near but not quite segregated existence. 

Because from your birth to your death, you are able to exist solely in a sea of whiteness if you choose. 

Your sense of self and worldview unchallenged by the the systems and norms around you. 

I will not be the currant in your rice pudding that helps you feel safe and justified in your cloister of privilege.

Don’t ask me to be your absolution. 

Your cheerleader, assuring you that I know you didn’t mean it THAT way.  

The bestower of your “you aren’t one of THOSE whites” certificate. 

Your witness that “you don’t have a racist bone in your body” 

Your, “if they knew you they would know that…(dot dot dot)” 

Because if you really cared, you would want to know that thing you said didn’t land right or was just plain ignorant. 

Because appearing to be a good person wouldn’t be nearly as important as actually striving to BE one. 

I do you no favors letting you live in the protection of your idealized sense of yourself. Holding you accountable is a gift, even if you don’t like the wrapping.

Don’t ask me to be your teacher. 

To put my pain on display for your edification.

Don’t ask for my patience as you now decide to play “catch up” with the realities that you have chosen to ignore until now. 

Don’t ask me to enlighten you to your privilege, to my marginalization, to hold your hand through your tears when the facade of your world comes tumbling down, only to watch your denial try to piece it back together when it all gets to be too much. 

Because choosing not to face racism is not an option afforded to me. 

Don’t ask me to modulate my tone. 

     Suppress my emotions. 

          Adjust my expectations. 

              See it from another side. 

                   Leave race out of it.

                      Suggest that perhaps I am the one that needs to change.

Don’t ask me to be any more or any less than I am. 

And, don’t commend me for my resilience for navigating things that I should never have to endure.

Because while this life is mine to live, this mess isn’t mine to own. 

So, by all means, figure it out, but DON’T.ASK.ME