When I look into the mirror, I am phenomenally Black. When I rise, as I move throughout my day and as I prepare for bed, I am proud to be bold, beautiful Black.
My melanin in my skin hugged me and defined me before I was anything else. It also, unfortunately, gave me my very first target in my back. Being Black in America pulls on every aspect of the psyche.
As I fill out applications, I question if I will get the job because of my name. It may sound Black. I wonder if the checked “African-American” box will turn up a nose.
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