to the black girls with the heavy names.

to the black girls with the heavy names.

that make them feel ashamed and wish they could change.

sister.

love your name.

even if it’s as long as a thesis.

correct them when they say it wrong

then

watch them become speechless.

watch as their tongues start to twist and stumble on every single syllable.

let them know your name is land unobtainable and won’t be robbed or changed cause it’s original.

do not, black girl,

shorten or let them mispronounce your name, your identity.

the evidence of your pedigree and your ancestry.

your name is not just a word or simply letters.

it be scripture.

it be a reminder that although you are far from home

home is still calling, calling you by your name.

the name ordained by the gods. tattooed on our tongues so we don’t forget.

our names be a love letter sent by god herself and stamped with the tears of our ancestors.

our names carry the forgotten, the dead, living and the emerging.

our names a testament to the strength of our people.

our names a reminder that although they’ve taken our land, our resources, our cultures and our narrative

we are still here.

Here

with names rich in everything they will never get their hands on. you see

this here poem is for Nyamai, Amara, Iman, Bakhita, Nyanagar and Nia. this here poem is for every black girl with names not safe enough for resumes.

next time when they open their privileged mouths and spit out the distorted sound of what is supposedly your name

let them know that your name

ain’t no game

and they will learn to say it right or

get fuck outta your sight.