When I was eight, I tried to hand my crush a cookie
he stared at it and said, "do blacks make their cookies different?"
I stared at his bright freckled hand and fire glazed hair
and responded "yah, we add a butt load of sugar."
That day I realized for the first time people see me as different
When I was twelve, I won the science fair
a disgruntled dad complained to my teacher
saying "she's a minority, save the advantages for college."
I didn't understand then, but my mom got really mad
and dragged me out cursing "the damn racist."
I didn't understand the man but I knew that r-word
When I was fourteen, I went shopping with my friends
they made comments about Hollister "being a white store"
I looked around to see Asians, Hispanics, and whites buying clothes
I realized what they meant was Hollister is a "light skin store"
And I wished for the millionth time by now, I wasn't black.
Now I'm seventeen, and used to these comments
I talk in a proper manner so "I'm a white washed Oreo"
I have days when I feel good about myself until someone says
"you're really pretty for a black girl" as if it's a compliment to say,
it's shocking you're pretty because blacks usually aren't
or "you'd be prettier if your skin was a little lighter"
I let these hurtful comments soak into my head for far too long
my mom found me crying in the bathroom one day
sorrounded by creams that advertised a way to whiten skin
she told me "black, white, and everything in between,
we are all the same on the inside, we are human,
and it is up to me to show that I'm just human."