Challenged with it all my life.
The kids laughing,
the kids talking.
Enemies and friends alike.

Always left wondering why.
Wondering why I look this way.
Pondering why I can't be like her.
Or why am I who I am.

Who am I?

I hated it then,
and I loath it now.
Nothing has changed,
nothing will change.

I hate that I am black.
There, I said it.
Not aloud,
but the words are out.

I hate that, on a regular day,
I am compared to night.
I hate that, on a summer day,
I am compared to tar.

I hate that I am the darkest shade,
of blackness.
And, when the sun comes out,
I only get darker.

I hate, that everywhere I go,
I'm always the first, second,
or third blackest person around.
In a sea of white, I am a flaw.

I hate, that no matter how hard,
I scrub, it never goes away.
It's not dirt, it's my complexion.
And, that realization, kills me.

Struggling with this, is fatal.
It's not something I can rid myself of.
It's a part of me, that I wish would disappear,
like me, when the lights go off.