“Why can’t you date a nice black man?”

Says my dad,

What makes color?

Eyes, or melanin

Or is it all in the mind?

Is it just a perception, or what you want to see?

Does it matter,

Harsh words flung from lips black or white still sting,

The resounding

slap

of hand against a tender cheek

Still draws tears,

pain

and blood.

Blood is still red.

A caress is no better or worse,

no more tender or sweet.

Kisses on lips,

Still cause sighs and swoons.

Love is love,

Love has no color.

Why can’t I date a nice man?