A Thoroughly Beautiful Young Lady

Shanita Ariona Monique Jackson

by Sarah Williams

The talents of the young are not always displayed publicly, but sometimes talents are so extraordinary that they must be shared. This is the case for fifteen-year-old Shanita Ariona Monique Jackson.

The following is a biography in Shanita’s own words:

My birth certificate declares me to be Shanita Ariona Monique Jackson, daughter of Lotto Nakita Jackson Brown and granddaughter of Carolyn Jackson. One thing my birth certificate didn’t do was name who I am; a legacy, an inspiration, a poet speaking for multiple generations.

Yes, that slip of paper granted by birth forgot to represent the girl
it deemed legally into society. If that paper properly introduced me to
this world, it would’ve animated itself and declared with every ounce
of dignity and sass “This girl right here is Shanita Ariona Monique
Jackson, and world, you better be ready for her!”

Unfortunately, sass-talking birth certificates don’t exist in our world,
so I’ll just have to introduce myself. My name is Nita, plain and
simple. I was raised by a strong black woman who taught me how to live
the strong black way. Poetry is my passion. A wonderful poet by the name
of Glenis Redmond introduced me to a very poetic world filled with
opportunities and told me God has a calling for me to be a writer. I was
blessed with such a talented woman to look up to.

I live in Hendersonville and attend the Early College Program as an
enrolled freshman. I’ll be sixteen years old this Thanksgiving. I
ultimately aspire to be a psychiatrist and a writer all at once.
(Though, due to a recent debate, most of my classmates think I should be
a lawyer.)

So far I’ve won about three county poetry slams and have come in second
and third in two others. I was asked to perform at a benefit at Warren
Wilson College on September 9, 2011. Ultimately I want to compete in the
international poetry competition, “Brave New Voices,” produced by
Russell Simmons. Until then, I’ll be working and writing hard. Hopefully
you’ll hear some good things about me along the way!

I Am My Own Shade of Brown

What am I supposed to do?
What am I supposed to prove?
This right here, this is me.
How can I possibly convince you that what I say is real
If it’s not already obvious?

What characteristics do I lack that complete your status quo of black?
I am so perplexed…or is it that?
Does your stomach churn as you digest my success?
Does your mind spin off its axis
When I describe my vocabulary as gargantuan?
If so, then I’m sorry.

I’m sorry that I’d rather make ecstatic faces instead of indignant ones.
I’m sorry that my sass is too bougie or not bougie enough.
I’m sorry that I don’t turn ghetto fabulous when I’m pissed
Or don’t twerk my hips every single time a “bootylicious” song comes on.

And I’m sorry that you dislike it.
I’m sorry that I’d rather press my nose into a book
Instead of pressing my butt against a stranger’s groin.
I’m sorry that I accept pencil and paper
Faster than a Trojan condom.

And I’m sorry that I’d rather grip a diploma
Instead of a positive pregnancy test.
I’m so sorry if
I turn right when
You turn left onto
Your dirt road with
No outlet.

But I am not sorry for who and how I am,
And that makes me no less black than you.
I am Shanita Ariona Monique Jackson, and I was born from
The womb of the womb of the womb of the woman

Whose great-great-great grandmother’s great-grandmother’s grandmother shuffled
While shackled
Off that Middle Passage Hell
And emerged into a world where pale skin
Didn’t absorb the sun’s energy into its melanin cells,
But rejected it.

And my God,
If that sun baked, copper toned, crimson whelped skin
Ain’t root-tipped black,
Then what is?

In my book
I don’t think anyone holds the right to tell someone
That they are not what God made them.
In my book
We are all the same under this worthless surface of epidermis.
In my book
I’m whatever color I see bouncing off that light-projected image
In the mirror.

But unfortunately, my book was never published.
And your book became a best-seller.
So stand to me and tell me what I’m lacking.
Tell me what I don’t know.
Tell me what I’ve been missing since day one!

See, I could rant and rave
About how technically I am
1/16 Black Hawk Indian
1/32 Caucasion
99.9% African American
And 100% human.

But that’s useless because
No matter what I say or do,
I will never be black enough for you.
Since you know so much,
Tell me why I’ve been an Oreo all my life.
Proceed with your analysis on what shade of brown I am.

Go ahead.
I’m waiting.
And I’ve been waiting
For 15 years.

~ Shanita Ariona Monique Jackson