A poem by Magdalee Brunache
If you can be the type that they can accept
You can let them praise you
Knowing that their praises come from surprise
Surprise at your decency
Shock at how well you can pass for one of them
Let them clap
Welcome the awards
Let them raise you to the skies
But be aware that the second you falter
They’ll be happier to let you fall
Avenged, they will strip you of your glory
Look into your past for signs that you were always less
They will shred the blanket you made
Of the soothing words that they drowned you in
The words that kept you warm at night
Let you believe that you had “made it”
That it was never about your color
That there was never any barrier
That the fight was over
If you master the language of the master
You will be deemed “educated”
You’ll get the applauses and the grants
And the parades
They’ll hold events so that they can display you
This marvelous thing for others to see
How unexpected they will say
How rare to find such brilliance in your kind
They will think
For you, the doors will be open
Not eligible is not a word that will be thrown at you
You’ll get the residence and the prize
You’ll get to go onstage and say
How immensely grateful you are
To the youngsters
Who look up to you
You’ll tell that
They too can “make it”
They can get a sit at the table
A place among the stars
You will not talk about the past
‘Cause why would you
It’s water under the bridge
Relic for history books
The future is yours if you can forgive
Who cares that no one ever asked you for forgiveness
You’ll walk the tight rope
In the luxurious circus they built for you
You’ll mind your actions
And you’re words
To be human, you’ll have to be more
Stay in the line!
Is the silent command that they will shout at you
Without ever having to say it
‘Cause you’ll forget that you’re caged
In your beautiful cage
It is for them you’ll sing
But when you fall, you’ll see
You’ll hear them saying
How you’ve set the fight back for your entire race
How you’ve spit oh so carelessly
On the chances given to you
How you’ve closed the doors behind you
For others like you
You’ll realize then
The truth that you knew all along
You are not a person
You are a type
You are a trope
The proper type
The type that they can pretend to accept
A model for your kind
You are not human
To them, you are a symbol
A poster telling the world that
They never hated us
They only hated the savagery within us
The violence that even under the proper clothes
We’re still unable to contain
The violence that is foreign to them
Because when they lash out
It’s not of poor taste
It is a breakdown
They reassert their humanity by failing
But not us
Though how could we lose
What they never believed we had
Inspired by Sarah Kay, “The Type”