Not Your Average "Nigga"

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It ain't what you think.

“My nigga!”

Say what?

“My nigga!”

Wait, who?

“Quit playin nigga, you!”

 

Please, let me stop you right there.

There are three people who can claim me as theirs:

My mother who raised me and bathed me and washed the blood from my scraped up knees,

My father who fed me and led me and taught me to be the man I want to be,

And my son, who blessed me and loved me and gave me the light so I could finally see.

 

My mother and father can say “My son.” My son can say “My daddy.” And I will always and forever be theirs. But you, your possessive “my” can neither be applied nor relied upon to describe me, because I am not yours.

I am not your nigga. I am not anyone’s nigga. In fact, I am not a nigga. I am but one thing alone, ME-by whichever version of myself I choose to be-regardless what you may or may not think you see.

 

“Whatever nigga.”

Now wait, what’d I just tell you?

 

I am not the appropriation of a derogatory word used specifically to belittle and demean every man and woman of black skin. I am not the colloquial rendition of a word used to strip the dignity and pride from within. I am not the ignorant and misguided usage of a word expressly reserved for ignorant men.

 

“Nigga quit frontin.”

You still don’t see it.

 

A nigga, I am not. I am a man, but more than that, a king. Everything I see and touch and build up from the ground up is my domain. So despite the fact that I am a man and therefore flawed, I have no shame in my game. I put my hand to the plow and from the sweat of my brow and the strength of my back, my kingdom will flourish as far as God will allow.

 

“Please. Nigga you ain’t shit.”

Well there you go.

 

I hear these women say it all the time, “Niggas ain’t shit.” No sweetheart, it aint that niggas ain’t shit. The niggas YOU mess with ain’t shit. You’re right, I ain’t shit, because I am not shit. I already told you, baby I’m a king. I’m tryin to build and rule my empire with a passion and a fire never before seen, and for that, I need a queen. But the throne at my side remains empty because you aint tryin to be a queen-you're too busy bein a “bad bitch.”

 

“Damn right I’m a bad bitch.”

And that’s exactly why you keep finding aint shit niggas.

 

“Hold up…”

Now you’re starting to see it…

 

I see that light comin on in your mind, that spark in your eyes when you realize the lies you’ve been fed, the light that leads to the disambiguation of the vulgar continuation of phrases like “nigga” and “bad bitch” and the necessary vital remediation of the perception and interpretation of your value and self-worth.

 

“Damn boy, come at me with that straight shit.”

Baby, that’s the only way I’ll ever come at you.

 

I'm gonna raise you from the depths of the earth and the squalor of your mind and take you to that place in your soul where you will seek and find the power of thought and the majesty of your spirit like sight given to the blind. I will bring you to the summit at the top of the world and you can gaze out onto the vastness of our empire. I will make you my right hand, my confidant and companion. You will see things unseen, the vibrations of the universe, the beginning, the present, and the end in a single glance, and you will sit upon the throne fit only for my queen.

 

“Why? Why do any of it at all?”

Because you deserve to be the queen you were destined to become.

And because I am not your average “nigga.”

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