I Had Never Felt Less Black

A melatonin frenzy, 
where hurried bodies 
scatter back and forth. 

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I walked down the hallway to the dance floor,
streamers hanging from their perch atop the ceiling, 
searching for my curly haired friend 
among the dizzying mass of people. 

A wave of sound hit me 
as the chatter of impatient teenagers 
rocking back and forth on their Jordans 
overlaid the loud bass echoing in my throat. 

As the crowd grew louder, 
my throat constricted,
choking on the harsh words 
of people I didn’t understand. 

Every few seconds,
someone would start a mosh pit, cheering and clapping, 
“Ay ay ay” 
hyping up the dancer in the middle. 

I just tried not to get trampled on, 
bodies ebbing in and away, 
shoving, pushing past me 
and into another circle. 

Smoke from a vape trailed through the air, 
fake money littered the cold gym floor, 
and students fell over one another, 
screeching as they danced. 

Afros and locs 
made their way across the room 
shouting out the n-word 
like one does their own name. 
Easy, familiar, with no hesitation. 

Meanwhile, 
I counted down the seconds 
until I could leave. 

The truth is, 
as I stood there, 
listening to music I was supposed to like 
in the space where I was supposed to belong,  
with the people I was supposed to belong to 

I had never felt less Black.