They say I was born black

But I never believed them

I came out of the womb with a fist in the air

when the doctor smacked my foot I cried, “Freedom!”

I was born free

And the blood that trickled down my weary face

bore the scars of many cultures 

whose power ruptured the dreams of my mother

I was born dead

scorned by the promises of white lips

who fashioned ships to move my grandmother

from her kingdom to the king’s dim-lit quarters 

They say I was born black

But I was born perfect

A gift to those whose insecurities needed comfort

Sent to redeem the lost tribes

Striving for a vision

Radiating spirituality like the cause of religion

Creative direction & Photography: Alain Pottier

Styling: Brett Bowen @brett_bowen_styling

Models: @prospii_gozho @ozonelayr @mustbe_teezy

Words: Charles Mei @charlesjlotus

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