ISAAC / chocolate N1

There comes a point in every chocolates life where we realize what we were put on this revolving sphere
of love and hate, to do. Bold and maybe an impulsively dramatic statement, but ever so true. It’s that click
in our minds where the oppression that lived through our genetic clothing, ceases to exist and the free yet
fragile spirit becomes determined to demolish societal beliefs that our beautiful, rich chocolate skin
defines monstrosity and abomination.

We teach within our households to lick our own chocolate skin. To embrace the smooth texture in which
our souls exude while others exclude. We combine the journey of our ancestors with determination, to
conquer the constructs labeled on our kind, demanding to keep us “last”. “How dare a chocolate, with
dreams so high that the vague skies adjust its ceiling, fathom a victory?” they would say.

The brain can be easily manipulated if not cared for properly. One can allow negativity to creep in like a
spider on your window, poised and still. Some may blame their surroundings. Others, may blame
experiences. It is the act of “blaming” that allows the brain to be tricked into believing. Can we rely on
holding others accountable for the acts of hate before understanding where our own hate comes from?
That is the poison. It’s the toughest poison created for chocolate. We are glorified for our sexual nature,
but not for our cranium thoughts. Others are astounded that we taste so sweet even though institutions
and individuals suggest that we taste bitter.

Though some may disagree, it does not matter. I am in love with my chocolate brown skin. I love my
design. I love my fingerprint marked on art. I love my past and I love my chocolate future. Even if people
will criticize my intelligence, degrade my personality, or attempt to discredit all that I am, and all that I
love, I will not allow them that opportunity.

My parents remind me daily of what it takes to embrace, my mind, my body and my soul. To fill my head
with knowledge and to never let my wants and desires be shattered by what people say or think. I owe my
happy tears to the kingdom they have created and the foundation they built with their beauty, strength
and intelligence.

In my darkest of hour, where I invite the negativity for supper and ponder on my own sanity, I accumulate
many thoughts of belonging. It’s a funny word; belonging. To belong. To what exactly? What are we trying
to belong to? To a group of people or social class that sucks the living life out of each other only to
express it through a cellular device or a television screen? To a machine captivated with a chocolate’s
misfortune? Its troublesome to grasp that this is the new form of entertainment. What ever happened to
poetry and other outlets of artistic expression? Words that flowed out of our bodies through song and
dance that fueled our souls and made life worth living.

Us chocolates have “expression” pulsing in our veins. It is our essence. And although we see people
purloin our creative ideas and profit, we still push for social identity. Keep on creating. Keep on
expressing. It is bigger than us. It is our way of raising our hand so the teacher can hear our answer. This

is our way of calling an SOS, lost out in the middle of the majestic sea. It is our being. It is our breath. We
must continue to inhale destruction and exhale love and peace through a world that desperately needs it.
Let my silky negro armor enter battle with just my voice and my vascular organ because my sword is my

I am black. I am Chocolate.

by Isaac Heron
photo Boo_nassim