The white man says I’m special.
He loves my albescent blackness.
He calls me an albescent berry—
almost orange.
The white man says I’m eloquent.
He says I speak like him,
that I’m not like the others.
The white man says I’m hardworking
He says I’m not like the others—
that I try.
The white man says I’m classy.
I dress like him.
I cannot tell—
if I am classy because I dress like him,
or if I dress like him because I am.
The white man says I’m intelligent.
I cut my hair—
so now books can enter.
The white man says I’m better.
I agree.
I have outrun him—
but he tells me I’m only better than my people.
What people?
The white man thinks himself the umpire—
and me a competitor.
