people of color
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Don't believe the hype with the Gov't categorizing lies about POC we are all
shades who tell a different story but when bled together we become one voice, Unified.
Black man,
I see the sulk in your eyes,
The wrinkles, the bags of countless years of work,
Trying to race ahead through the obstacles,
My mother.
The curls of her hair
a mystery we could never find the end of
with various ringlets
creating a spongy wall around her head.
My black mother
Person of color. I am a person of color in a land full of free, white men. I am living under rights first given to only free, white men.
That moment, where words from my mind
Flow through my hand and into my pen
That moment, when all of the thoughts
Become organized, and no longer scream
Are you listening?! Can you hear me...
Do you even care?
Inspired by Imagination by Phyllis Wheatley. I wrote this for a class. It connect the struggles of people of color of the past to people of color today. I modeled it after Wheatley's poem in form.
There was a time when I used to be embarrassed of who I am.
Embarrassed to walk the halls full of people with fair skin and flowing hair.
All while feeling like I was being punished,
