About a month ago, I attended a writing and poetry workshop taught by the 2024-2025 National Youth Poet Laureate, Stephanie Pacheco. It was honestly an amazing experience. Stephanie is so sweet, and her workshop inspired me to be more open with spilling my heart and my truths into my work. It was an honor to read and hear some of her favorite poems and to learn from the master herself.

During the majority of the workshop, we read and listened to a few stellar poems, including but not limited to: My Parents Fold Like Luggage by José Olivarez, To The Black Kids in My 8th Grade Class by Ariana Brown, and Accents by Denise Frohman. All these amazing verses and story and life, straight from people unafraid to bare their soul. And then Stephanie had us write our own Identity poems.

Identity poems are poems about you. Completely and wholeheartedly. Your perspective of the world; comments, concerns; your life, and your experiences.

After soaking in all this boldness and bravery, this poem literally spilled from my fingertips. I’ve never written a deep poem as fast I wrote this one, and it was honestly a lot of fun.

Hopefully you enjoy, and I hope this inspires you to write some identity poems of your own. ❤

This Is Who You Are

I don’t think I talk Black.

And sometimes I’m glad,

glad my voice sounds professional

and my co-workers won’t give me strange looks.

“You sound so smart,

so well-raised.”

“You’ll go far in life.” They say,

I think.

Wearing these cords of freedom atop my head

a crown.

An eruption from my heart.

Sometimes I wonder who I’d be

if I spoke Black.

My eyes

shine like the depths of a midnight pool

full of rich, dark chocolate,

rich, tree bark, strong and steady,

bright as the millions of stars and

melanin

beneath their folds.

Sometimes I rage

that I will not

succeed,

in this world

that can only see

My skin, rich, protected,

a shield

against the words,

a shield,

against the sun,

a shield–no, a barricade,

it feels,

holding me back.

But sometimes

I think of those who fought

those who ran

those who wrote

those who sang.

Paving paths they wanted me to take,

prayed I would take.

I cry as I forget their names

but remember their stories.

I dry

my tears

and bundle these cords, my

hair, into a beautiful black

waterfall.

I set my gaze

to the stars.

My eyes, full

ready to take down these barricades

ready to use my shield to

fight

what must be fought and

protect

those who have not found their strength

their fight

their future

yet.

I raise my heart,

my fist,

hoping–

on those days, when I do not feel

as I am.

The kings and queens, steadying my shoulders

will raise their voices, saying.

“This Is Who You Are!”

This is who I am.

Black. Different. In this world that I don’t fit into.

A Queen, either way.

And no one

no place

can take that away from me.