When you see someone, you smile. You smile with teeth. You lean in, open arms, open legs—you smile, you hear? You ain’t one of them lil white girls. You open your mouth, you better have something to show for it. And when someone looking, you sit up straight. You sit up straight when no one is looking. You sit up straight. Your back better not bend. You not one of them slouching motherfuckers. You can’t be. You can’t embarrass me in this store. You can’t embarrass me in that school. You can’t embarrass me on these streets. Don’t you know they watching? Stand up straight. Smile. You not one of them ugly ones. You know who I’m talking about. Them thugs that grew up under that Highbridge, don’t know how to talk right, don’t know how to act right, like the nigger you so bent on becoming. When they call on your hand, every word better be rehearsed. You not no white boy. Confidence ain’t a key for you; it’s a lock. You gotta pick that shit, you hear? Write it in your notebook so you don’t forget. Write it on the back of your hand so you don’t forget. Write it everywhere so you don’t forget. Don’t forget. Draw out the syllables; spell out the fragment words. Daa · stoy · ev · skee. Repeat. Nee · chuh. Repeat. Bow · vwaar. Repeat. Again. Do it again. Do it one last time — the last thing they needa think is that black people can’t pronounce shit. But people mispronounce things every now and then...and we’re reading Plato. You not people. You black. There’s a difference. Pull your skirt down. Take your hood off. Smile. Smile with teeth. No, not like that. You look like Jim Crow. You look like a nigger. This ain’t a minstrel show. Try again. You not one of them. But you can try to be. Buy that oil those white girls love so much. Your skin needs to shine. Your skin needs to shine to make up for the fact it’s black. You gotta shine. Don’t go walking around at night. Black look blue at night, so them cop fuckers won’t know if you choking or laughing. I don’t care if I die tomorrow. You don’t take time off. You stay inside. You read every page of that book. You go to every lecture. You gotta be better. You gotta laugh. Laugh. They telling a joke. You gotta laugh.

But what if I’m the punch line? You mean after all this, you still gonna be the kinda nigga they laugh at?

Jaylen Adams (she/her) is a sophomore at Columbia College studying political science and creative writing. She has been published in HuffPost, The New York Times, and Wisteria Magazine. She loves tea (both kinds), her mom, and sitting on the lawn while the sun is shining (the sun in general, actually). You can find her on Instagram @jaybirdfeathers