To Listen to Music While Reading this Poem, just Click Here!
Click Here To add this poem to your "Voting Possibilities" list!
The Color Of Skin I have not endured the drama of contempt for my brown face, or the derogatory crawl of a gaze over my form. I have not shrunk from my reflection in a morning blue river as the color of my skin reveals the storms of struggle ahead. I have felt the cold seeping through the thin blanket that covered my two sisters and I as we slept, and mama cried in the night behind the bathroom door. I have known the ache of hunger and sent the desperate prayer, for toast and jam sticky on our morning plates, and for a cheap supper of smelly bologna and fried potatoes. I have not felt the sense of inadequacy consume my soul as the stares of arrogant ignorance followed me in a room, and denied me the pleasure of unconditional regard. I have not been disinherited from my history,robbed of honor an ancestry of kings and queens forged in the deserts of Mohammed and ancient Babylon. I have felt the shame of rejection,and the palm of want touch my young heart,as my worn shoes and old dress with its dishevel fit provoked the muffled laugh. I have held the cold lonely hand of dissonance, outside the doors with brass knockers, as the paragons of old money debated the irony of divine fate and my unacceptable pedigree. The color of skin and the hues of the wretched have danced together often in the night of tears, and days orchestrated with survivals intent. The textures of their lives keep's each other warm as icy winter winds kiss cheeks meant to smile, and the look of conscience brings the howling gale. |
Sorry, there are no critiques for this poem in our system... If the poem is older, the critiques have been purged!