my copper skin glazes in the sun.
And my almond eyes twinkle.
I sweat the fruits of my labor,
and make my living plucking from your collection
I shape my hands deformed,
and sing songs of home praised Africa,
and long walks in native pools.
I grieve standing up,
and deal with the separation of
I work all day,
and gain little rest.
To wake up and do it all over again.
I stand an alien,
abducted by those you call white.
And unlike you,
I can't phone home.
Need to talk?
If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741