To other black folks that would say there’s a correct way “to black,” I would say …

Don’t kill a flower while it’s blooming.

We’ve survived centuries of external and internal oppression.  If another black person has a unique take on their blackness, you need to back off and let them shine forth in all their unique complexity.  I get it.  Others will always have an opinion about that, but that doesn’t mean we need to “toughen up” or conform the race to a perceived “correct” expression.

If you find another black person’s blackness daunting, challenging, unfulfilling, or even downright confusing, you need to ask yourself what you have invested in someone else’s expression.  I’m not talking about shuckin’ and jivin’ or genuflecting under constant scrutiny.  I’m talking about honoring another’s unique take on blackness, whether queer or afrocentric or atheist or polyamorous or highly sexual or asexual or trans or inexplicably artistic or something yet to be expressed or discovered.

Don’t kill a flower while it’s blooming.

I’m not asking you to like every expression of blackness.  I’m asking you to give blackness room to move, grow, and growl, to get loud, quiet, or visible, or to be barely there, bare, or buck ass naked.

Don’t kill a flower while it’s blooming.

Just imagine all the possibilities we can be, even after the concerted effort to wipe us off the planet after our labor and love were no longer considered “free.”  Our existence has been compromised for so long, and yet here we are in all of our breathtakingly unabashed beauty.

Don’t kill a flower while it’s blooming.  Let it grow, stretch toward sunlight, and sink its roots deep in rich, life-giving soil.