Miracle Mitchell
Appreciation vs. Appropriation
The War on Black Women and Our Culture
Dedicated to the beautiful black women who molded, shaped, and raised me. Who taught me the importance of pride, joy, and love. Who taught me how to laugh in the midst of tears. Who taught me to exude strength through vulnerability Who taught me the true beauty of life. The most influential being Monica and Augusta. I love you deeply.
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Foreword For hundreds of years African Americans have been the backbone of a country that wishes to make our identity a distant thought. America has profited off the labor, intelligence, and ideologies of black men and women since the days of antebellum. In the 50’s- 60’s we watched white artists boldly steal the musical property of black artists as their own. Today we watch as the bodies, skin color, mannerisms, and overall personalities of black women and men are stolen and used for monetary gain. Frankly, there is a war on our culture occurring, and it is up to us to stop it. This fetishization of black culture is nothing but a fad imposed by social media. Our culture is an admirable one because it comes from a place of genuineness. Influencers who are not of our culture take that same culture proudly but are mute when we are gunned down in the street by a police officer. It is saddening to see the difference in stature of a white woman possessing a black persona versus a black woman living proudly in her genuine blackness. We are downplayed as ghetto and hood for being our true selves unapologetically. It seems as though our culture is more digestible coming from our counterparts. In this chapbook it is my goal to educate the inflictors and uplift my brothers and sisters who are inflicted. I hope to send the message that there is a thin line between appreciation and appropriation; a line that should never be crossed.
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– Table of Contents – Page 5 : WAR CRY
Page 7 : CULTURE VULTURE
Page 8 : GUILT OF A GOVERNMENT
Page 9 : QUEEN DOLEZAL
Page 10 : ROUTINE STOP
Page 12 : MALCOLM’S SOLILOQUY
Page 12 : HERstory
Page 15 : FOR MY QUEENS
Page 16 : THE BIRDS AND THE BEES
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War Cry This isn't a fairytale….there’s no wish me wells or wishing wales in the backyard This is no pain song it’s how we made it out each rain storm…. and howhow we’re striving everyday Every time we’re fed…...or make some bread we bow our heads to pray Thanking god for the struggle he made Cause life ain’t sunshine everyday You must go through some rain Each day is a fight to stay sane….a fight to stay saved... a fight to stay safe. We’re not appreciated…..we’re appropriated and still have to labor to survive. In a world where acting black is lucrative business….while being black is a means to…..Die We continue to keep our heads to the sky. We continue to lock arms as we stride. Fighting for my people and our pride to stay alive…. This is our War Cry.
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Objective
The Enemy
”She underestimated just who she was stealing from.” - Unknown
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Culture Vulture Barbaric in your approach you ravish upon an entire culture Your levels of manipulation allow you to soar high in the sky What should witnesses call you? A vulture Your motto is “by any means necessary” Even if those means cause me and my people to feel wary Wary of our future and our status in the world Wary for the confidence of our little girls You are a selfish force to reckon with Feasting upon a whole culture you did not grow up with Possessing skin you were not birthed with Copyrighting style you did not create The same style that brings originators hate Vulture who made you king? And betrothed you the right to steal these things? Your supremacy reeks of rotting flesh lingering through generations, you stink up a nation It is time for your reign to become deceased Time for you to be knocked out of the sky, and down to your feet No longer allowing you to sustain from our meat The beast will soon become the feast
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Guilt of a Government Lingering in the air was the enticing scent of costly perfume, intertwined with the aroma of arrogance.
A ghastly scene for the eyes of the woke, a sign of unity for those who choose slumber In Ambraham’s hall midday lightbeamed on your bowed, blessed brows.
You knelt for the duration the victim was moribund as if his blood was seeping from your own-
louboutins, red as the symmetry in the cloth gifted to you because you're an “ally.”
Handwoven patterns drape your wingspan although guilt should be your royal garment. Guilt for your ways of remembrance. Guilt your jeering photo op. Guilt because you chose appropriation. Guilt because this vicious cycle will never stop
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Queen Dolezal I am black because of childhood pain. My adopted siblings' hearts I wished to gain. I nurtured them ‘till they were sane, Leaving me with the mental strain. My adopted siblings' hearts I wished to gain. I learned their culture better than my own. My mental strain left me feeling alone. I turned black to break the shackles of pain. I learned their culture better than my own. I loc’d my hair and changed my skin tone. I turned black to break the shackles of pain, but being found out left me afraid. I loc’d my hair and changed my skin tone. I was “down” for the cause; I was given a throne. Being found out left me afraid- Afraid that as their leader I would no longer reign. I was “down” for the cause; I was given a throne. Until one day my kingdom was no longer my home. As their leader I would no longer reign. My facade finally tumbled down the drain. My kingdom is no longer my home I nurtured them as if they were my own My facade finally tumbled down the drain I am black because of childhood pain
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Routine Stop We see this everyday- how she uses expensive oils and contraptions to- achieve a sweet toffee hue Though she’ll never bare the burden of me and you With her hue as sweet as toffee Her very being is a boastful mockery, still she’ll never know our burden as devilish lights flash- behind her she doesn’t flinch nor does she shudder She boasts and she mocks- as if she is the second coming of Dartmouth Rice. She doesn’t flinch let alone shudderwhen the blue clothed henchman is right over her shoulder Dartmouth Rice himself would laugh at her persona. When the henchman reached her, his eyes became distorted Still she doesn’t flinch, just hands her Id with a grin Her sweet toffee hue is now pale as a pure angel to him The henchman reached her, yet didn’t say a word. She doesn’t bare our burden, so she didn't flinch or shudder. Her hue is an illusion. We see this every day.
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Strategy
The Battle
”The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting” - Sun Tzu
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Malcom’s Soliloquy
Sisters and Brothers there is a crisis at hand. The crisis lies in the fault of the white man. The crisis is betrothed to the hearts of our women. They are broken and it is on us to fix.
FIGHT. Sisters and Brothers we will never be free until we take accountability
Maybe the fault lies within you and me for turning a blind to these obvious-
casualties . Each day they steal and kill her valubility,
her pride, her sensibility. Let them not take
her blessed cultivations and create inequities.
STAND. Sisters and Brothers
be aware of the signs . Sarah pays good money to mimic our sisters thighs, our sisters hips, and our sisters' minds. Real good money, yet, sister never sees a dime.
Breathe. Sheww, Sisters and Brothers, anger it swells and it sweeps. Don’t succumb to anger, be light on your feet. Sisters, continue to ooze your essence from the valleys to the skies. They may reap the benefits now, but your glory is what will survive.
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HERstory Poetry-
She is the echo in the distance that keeps your dome on a swivel
She is strength
She is the single mahogany fist in a sea of ivory
She is light as a feather plucked gently from a pure dove
Her voice is merciful like a word on a Sunday
Or as forceful as a lighting bolt striking a human nerve
She is authentically beautiful soaked in deep, amber rays
Her tongue SNAPS-
She is as permanent as the closing of a sepia rich coffin
faster than a whip splitting ebony flesh Her power is a vibration a reverie to the soul She is a grenade in a peaceful pasture
She is a whisper in the dark one that permeates She is admired- they even imitate But Her virtue is boundless a rarity they can’t recreate She is timeless like the shredded bark of a rosewood tree
Her depths surpass the oceans She is effortless like the single strike of a knife Poetry- She is life
drowning you beneath her waves She is the echo in the distance that keeps your dome on a swivel
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The Aftermath
Empowerment
”There is no force equal to a black woman determined to rise.” - Unknown
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For My Queens For My Women; unimpressed with the times, unimpressed with the lies, unimpressed by the disguise; it is time to live your life. Live it unapologetically and Free: Free of all social liabilities. Beauty lies in the eye of the beholder, but what if the beholder told her that her beauty is more digestible from another, how shall she survive? With the power that lives inside. Strength oozes from your bronze pores; lighting the way for a generation of much more. For My Queens; Hold your head up strong; never let your crown fall; For they are watching: Watching the way you strut, the way you saunter, the way others lust; wishing to possess just a piece of your melaninated glory to add to their story. They can fake your attributes, but never the magic that lies within. So how shall she survive? Only with time. Grow black queen, flourish black queen, and as your seeds flow in the breeze remember that you are everything.
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The Birds and the Bees Dear Merci, Your beauty- It surpasses anything I could ever imagine. Dreaming of your being you possess Monica’s beautiful scent, Michael’s roots , his essence, and my spirit. The day you arrive we will be in awe at the span of your leaves, the vibrance of your color and the beauty of your petals. God took his time making you a masterpiece; a sight to behold. I want you in this world to watch you grow and to help you thrive, to nourish you and to watch you blossom, but as you flourish I’d be remiss if I did not mention the inequities of this here world. We will love and cherish you in all of your jewel toned glory, but the world may not be so accepting. I am praying for a change before you make your appearance, but I fear for what awaits you. As the gorgeous floret you are, some will be stunned by you. They will imitate your actions, your grace, your style. They will take your birthright as their own. Never let your crown fall, or let your brightness fade. As they take from you new petals will grow. Keep your delicate nature and stray from a rough exterior. Do not let them cause you to change. My precious, precious bloom do not fret. I will always have your hand guiding you, with the help of god, to a path of success. Take rest in my bosom, away from the storms of the environment. Remember: You are deserving of love, you are deserving of respect, and you are deserving of peace. With each footprint in the sand you will have two more behind you. Peace and Blessings Merci, Your Pollinator
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Author’s Bio Born April 13th, 2002, Miracle Mitchell was born in Hinesville, Georgia, but was raised in Clarksville,Tn. Mitchell found a love for writing at a young age immersing herself in literature and storytelling. Journeying through upper level education she honed her creativity into business and entrepreneurship as a member of the Clarksville High School Business Academy. During the summer of 2019 the path she envisioned for herself took an unexpected turn. Becoming a youth correspondent for the Washington Journalism and Media Conference sponsored by George Mason University, Mitchell found her passion. Today she is a Mass Communications major with a concentration in journalism at the Illustrious Tennessee State University. Mitchell is currently making strides to become a future force in media and journalism while keeping God and family at her forefront.
“She believed she could so she did.” – R.S Grey
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