Waxing poetic on thoughts, theory & the times
A child of variations
No one could yet understand,
They tried to put me in a box,
Defining what I am.
I tried to map,
To define who I am.
I broke the box;
I broke the mold;
In each dimension
I traverse
For that is it.
That is just
Me,
As I am.
We’re all awake now,
The veil has been lifted,
It’s time to choose sides
Of history,
This is when out legacy is written,
By when we choose to speak,
And what we choose to say,
Or whose life we will lay down for,
Or if we’ll look at this
As just another day.
There has been a crack
In me
And I am open,
Yoke exposed,
I am taking in, taking on, trying on
The world in ways I’ve never before seen,
And I am aware of
The illusion in which we swim,
I am aware,
And tempted to scream it from the mountain tops,
But that is not my mission,
I thought knowledge was,
My mission involves learning
To swim through the illusion in a different way,
I have not found out yet how,
But I am open,
Finding pieces of my broken shell,
And reassembling self,
Equipping for this mission,
To be in and of the world,
To simultaneously see, not see, taste, touch, and transform the illusion.
He sees the difference,
Between us,
In our views,
In our tastes,
In our skin,
And he celebrates
Out loud,
Letting it slip off his tongue,
But I was taught we are all the same,
But I knew we were different,
But I just saw beauty in it,
How I envy his missing social mores,
That allow him to verbalize
What I was reared to keep tucked under tongue,
I want to learn,
To be like him,
To identify the differences and make them known,
For their existence is a secret,
We all pretend not to know,
Free my eyes to see,
Free my voice to speak this truth
When it need be,
For as I know,
In this difference,
Is human beauty
Precious child,
You see my color,
But not your alabaster own,
This is the world you were born into,
Me, and the brown plastic babies in the playroom
Are the only introduction you will get to this,
Your little mouth agape
As you ask me in wonder
–A stranger really–
“Why are some people brown?”
And I’ve had a lifetime to prepare,
Tenderly, “Because we all have different skin colors.”
My skin is not an anomaly to you,
But a canvas to be admired,
You will grow and input will develop,
But may you always find beautiful too in
shades that may not be your own
Written 2017
2011 – Age
“He’s an old man, ignore him.
Don’t let his talk bother you–he’s stuck in his ways, you can’t change him now…
But things have changed, so you don’t have to worry about it.
It’s not like there will be a cross burning in the front yard tonight. ”
2003 – Waiting
Things have changed
“Things have changed,” I’ve been saying that to myself my entire life. Meanwhile, at the same time I have felt a great urgency in the need to “save the world” from the unchanged.
But things have changed. I want to believe that, to feel safe; Continue reading “Things Have Changed”
She of Letters 