DEAR SYSTEM
Hi

We have not formally met, but Hello

I am that black child you have ignored so many times that you felt she was not worth being part of the policy
The neglected pigment that is found to define my identity, ignoring first and foremost that i am human

Hello
I find myself conversing about the difficulties that shadowed the pigment before me
And still today we the offspring of the very pigment still converse about those challenges

From what i perceive you are strong, owned by no one, yet to blame for a lot
When we have no answer or feel ripped off of agency and autonomy
We made to believe you are untouchable, very far and bigger than any of us
That the only thing we can do is breath and accept that you are

You decide who fits, who benefit
You have your own class, the group of the elites where the working class is nothing but a pool of labor reserve

We are taught silence, never to tamper with "The System"lest it pukes us out more than we already are
You make us believe and appreciate to be tolerated, like breathing the same air as the ones you chose is enough grace so we should pretty much be thankful and not ask for me
Who are we to demand?

You have succeeded in teaching the unwanted pigment how to be good slaves
Never question the master
Follow the rules
Adapt
Do not ask
You found it as it, and so shall it be

You constantly teach us to be apologetic of breathing, and matters we raise are subject to debate.

Hello
You have defined success and beauty and sadly that too has a certain pigment
Those of us who have a different one our success is never really acquired, it is rather labelled, likened,
Weighed...
Having a black pigment could never amount to anything so you never thought you could accommodate nothings

Hi
You have so much defined what beauty is
All which rest on the definition of wealth, a discussion of who can afford
Beauty and intelligence
All which favour the pigment that so formally acceptable as the best standard
Qualification restricted to affordability
You forgot to include me

The offspring of the mine worker who only had a shack as a roof over her head and could only bring enough money for paraffin and candles
The daughter of the woman who fed and led your kids knew how to sing sings to them as a goodnight tune till all they could dream about is a sweet paradise
The woman I knew as my mother but also saw a warrior fighting through the early mornings just so she comes home month end with just enough meals to keep us.

Dumela.

Remember when democracy was won?
You still managed to be the great one in the ring. We? We were taught to tip toe around you. Not to anger you
Your rules are set in place to control the mind of those who lost their voices
Free to move yet still bound by the restrictions
Waking up daily to camouflage to what is expected.
Respect. Dignity. Honour

Dear System

Hello.

We not asking to be tolerated, nor are we asking to be like anyone
We simply saying we are here.

Unlike the old pigment, we can talk, we have learned your language so we can challenge the very authority you have had on us. We define and set new rules, we fight, we claim our space, our bodies, our identity. We notice you never saw us, that you ignored us.
So I thought I introduce myself.
Hi
I am here.