You say you don’t like me

I ask you why, is it because of my hair

I don’t think that’s fair.

Is it my clothes, I guess no one knows

Wait, is it my skin

Let’s not pretend

My skin is brown, your skin is white

God made me and you alike

Are you saying he’s not right

Because I’m brown you dislike my skin

I wonder if that also makes Crayola cringe

You read this whole poem

You must be intrigued

I’m sure you have questions

Oh no, not for me

The answers you seek

Will be skin deep



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