by SAMUEL HOLLOWAY - March 7, 2019
I’ve resented my skin as long as I can remember
Saw the pale faces around me.
Wishing to look like them.
Mold myself in their image.
They say God created us from clay
But the devil painted me.
People leave corner stores bloodied
Blues beat black bodies like drums to ride into battle
Boost themselves by killing my vibe
Since I was a child, I wished I was white
Blond hair, blue eyes.
A nose that crinkled, never flared
Hair that’s straight, not nappy
Eyes that saw ahead, not down.
Down at those that look like me.
Never talked like me
Yet walk the same gravel road
Now, I’m proud of my skin.
This dirt brown will stand against the golden sands of time
My skin will cross all lines and break all barriers
My skin is hope that will burn a fire the likes of which the sun has never reached
What becomes obscene will be picked by me and no one else
I choose to be selfish
All my life I’ve been worthless
So today I’m valuable
Right now I’m priceless
My skin is God.
It has seen all, touched all, and made all things
But no matter what my skin brings
I pray it gives hope.