I looked at you and smiled. I was raised right. I knew that your skin didn’t effect who you were. I laughed at your jokes. I gave you a hug. But then I said something that you didn’t like. And I saw who you truly were.

You accused me of saying what I believe because I was prejudiced. I say things because I mean them. Not everything is about the fact that you speak Spanish or that my skin allows me to pass for a vampire. And now you turn to your friends, speaking in your tongue so that I don’t understand. I can’t share my opinion without you getting offended. I’ve been the enemy for so long and it’s just never been let go.

Why can’t I belt Lift Every Voice and Sing? I can’t sing about freedom? I haven’t had dark times that I can tell about in song? “But you’ve had freedom all your life, handed to you on a silver platter,” you say. “Let someone of color sing it at the MLK assembly.” Martin Luther King Jr. fought for equality, though. Dear old Dr. King would care if I create glare when a picture is taken with flash. I’m free. And I can rejoice. And who is chosen to stand at the microphone in my stead? A girl of color—who was born in the U.S.A.; who had freedom just as long as I had.

I’m sorry. Could you forgive me for whatever my ancestors have done? I personally haven’t attacked you. Why am I being judged the way you once were. It’s my time to fight for freedom. Freedom from judgment. Because I’m not the enemy here. Our real foe is hate.