downwithracism
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You poor thing, you. You only came here to
get some food for your empty stomach and pay
with your own money that you worked so hard
for and, oh my, someone put a hand on you.
I feel a little awkward, like maybe I should be ashamed
Because I don't think I was born with the right to write a poem about race
My skin is not black or brown or red, not even my hair or eyes are naturally dark
He is mine.
Mine,
and you can't take him away.
Not for my fairness
or my wellness
or his fate.
Im cream.
Deal with it.
I am his.
So stop
stopping me.
