I am discrete, pausing to linger only for....

I waited for a thousand years
That looked just like the skies that are painted
Of black.
Cold thats holding ferociously, wrenching tightly
At the moon. And the stars
Many, many as-so-so light years away.

While I waited, I looked.
Upon myself. Saw nothing.
But, inevitable darkness.

I walked all over my hands.
Pushing them lower and lower in mud,
Without clear translucency.

I was of the age of the
SUPPOSED “careless” innocent.
More than year seven but less…
Than year nine.

Embracing INNOCENTS age.
Does not protect curiosity,
Sprouting through like
Daisies grazing a field of grain.

I would wonder,
“If color of mine, permanent for all to loom,
Was undoubted of doom.”
Should child think of malicious?
Angered all the time,
Why I wasn’t the same color of, wait!

I reminisced so long….
While I was called dreary and
Burdened with the venom of a serpent's

Now that I have been revived from my innocence, I have adapted
To my now recent, more comprehending
I now know that it is not my skin that
Should be frowned upon.

I am only human, not an underrated

I waited to find answers.
Those answers came everywhere.
I had no recollection of them.
Spiraling in media; including historical media.

Estranging from my matter of
My answer was, let race flaunt.
But, that answer never taught

I saw that beauty flickering in most incandescent
Was skin of snow, lips
Embodying and flourishing red.
Pinned waves, not kinky curly.

Civilized, during the time of intense and migrating hate,
Was not we.
A line obviously made distinction.
Between; charcoal and white, pure white.

I’m the one, that’s stuck here waiting, again!
Here in this hard, rusted, squeaky,
Pointy, silver, dark, white, always changing…

For date to indicate the time.
Where I could show that,
The color of my origin.
Nothing to be ashamed of.

Wait, wait, wait, wait, and wait.
To have the biggest critic, not swayed or persuaded,
But realize behind my skin;
Lies rights, humanity, an urge for equality, no care
Of color, no saying that black is
Greater than white.

Also, I’ll share all this;

To the world.
And various people,
That struggle for everlasting equality.

Guide that inspired this poem: 



This poem has a lot of depth to it and was a challenging read. When you write, "I walked all over my hands. Pushing them lower and lower in mud..." I was in awe of your ability to use metaphors that hold their place among the context of your poem so well.

Good luck in the slam!

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