Skin.

My skin doesn’t define my abilities, add to my flaws, state my history, limit my opportunities or validate my behaviour. Neither should yours.

Firm or lined, or just sallow, that weird shade of yellow,

Bruised from the workouts or battered and broken from your handouts,

Patchy, shaded, hairy or tanned enough to never detan,

Red, brown, black, pimpled, acned, wrinkled, or just glowing from the baby inside.

Looking them down,

All my life I’ve lived proud,

In a skin which refused to take on hues,

My whiteness making me privileged,

Until a fellow white decided,

To wield the gun out.

The windfall rise that I’d seen,

Because of my skin led,

To my fall too.

And at the end, I know how it felt,

To be called out for your skin too.

Graciously Yours!

P.S.: In support of all people who’ve been hurt in ways unimaginable and inhuman because of the amount of melanin their tissues contain – something so small and insignificant to the potential a human mind can yield that you really end up questioning if we are indeed a higher race!