Each Night, 

I rub, I scrape

and I fight.

Each night I try

to wash the pigment 

I cry

as my skin begins to redden

I can't take it off.

All of a sudden

I stop.

My flesh is now a wound

At first glance,

You see me , I see you

a n d I a m br ok en

Because my skin is haunting me

and your skin is a token

of good luck and good fortune

While mine means I'm chosen

I fight it back, I'm weak, I tap out.

My skin means I'm chosen for nothing, for failure

for gunshot wounds, teen pregancy, and dropout


Each night I rub,

I scrape and scratch

My flesh 

I scrub

One day I hope to bathe in quiet

One day I hope to hear a silence. 

This poem is about: 
My family
My community
My country
Our world


Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741