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I’ve traveled to many countries, Met people white black and brown, I’ve seen beautiful locales,
They faced the world standing proudly, forming a triangle with their backs to each other, their diverse facial colors, corporal features and costumes distinguished in the rising sun.
When I saw the flower, it had already been picked I saw its roots  Dark and full and filled with dust Yet still visible I saw its stem 
I grew up with a carefree view of the world in my youth I didn’t change until I realized the hard-hitting truth I started caring about issues in politics and society Constantly thinking about figuring out a remedy
The air was cool that morning, Matching the sky’s lavender and peachy hues. Vehicular white noise And the wind’s quiet whispers Lulled the peaceful baby to sleep.
                        A few grains of wheat      Des glaneuses ,in 1857– By French painter Millet Jean Francois, Filled with tranquil,solemn scenery, And simple life of peasants.  
As an infant, their eyes are filled with happiness  their head is filled with innocence their heart is filled with gold. As a toddler, their eyes are filled with curiosity their head is filled with imagination
A mentor is not always a person you see. A mentor can be anything that motivates me.   I think of a land that is near the Baltic-sea.
we're all human  no matter what religion we follow or dont follow   we're all human  no matter what culture we belong to we're all human  no matter what ethnicity we are we're all human
When I was a child I was told that I was black but not black black. I didn't quite fit into the pre-packaged, tick-one-only boxes society had for me. Which made it difficult when trying to find my place. 
What can you tell from the color of my skin? Does it match what's on the inside or does it just scratch the surface of who I am You may assume you know it all But one thing you'll never see, is my true identity
I am not the color of my skin.   I am not my semi-squinted eyes or my small nose.   I am not my small mouth and my round face.   I am not my small stature or my black hair.  
I need my melanin  as crazy as that sounds my melanin screams I am who I am,  I need my melanin its my sense of confidence and power,
A world divided by race, A people shackled by hate, For if there is bigotry, Then there is no liberty. Although we are different, We are all significant. Do not fear difference,
she's a girl with a sense of wanderlust she seems so happy but she's just a remnant of a far-off age over the days her people change gone from the roots of a wandering past my, how it's seemed so fast
They call us thieves - filthy, hungry, bean-eating wetback thieves. They look at our brown skin and sneer. But they do not know who we really are.
One It is about time you realized that you are black you still don’t know what that means But one day you will And you will never have felt more beautiful or misunderstood
Everyday is the same as yesterday I fight to be a new me but it always flees The chance to change my families name itches at my mind That new me must come up and rise
What would you change? What would I change? I'd chage the way peole think, Get rid of the unnceccasary judgement. Who needs that? Certainy not we. We have the power to learn,
If I could change the world, I would abolish prejudice; Or the bumpy past, That created it. No race more superior, No size more supreme. Only happiness,  And positivity gleamed.   
Symbols, letters, words
i wonder who it could be that would want me for me who could include my faults in whats best of me why cant i see when will he show its been a dream of mine he holds the key
No father mother here  but really there   I am here but really   where?   nature or really nurture?
This world is all about oppression. It seems that's all we really care about. To slam our likes. To slam our beliefs. To slam our backgrounds.   We never seem to stop. We do it more and more.
  Friends for almost ten years 
Look at me and tell me I didn’t fight for my rights. Because twenty-four hours seems more like twelve rounds And some days the bell doesn’t sound. Their blood runs through my veins
Welcome to Chicanos- r-us We service all of your needs Will school principals go to isle 12? We still have a few janitors here Desperate for a job Yes, they are Mexican Ready for their graveyard shift
I'm sorry, I hadnt realized that correct grammar and proper English was only something one race could doMy mother never told me I had to talk in slang, incomplete sentences, & silly colloquial speech 
Everytime I look at a paper it has: Black, White, Chinese, Indian, etc... Why can't it just say American? I don't want to be labeled as those things, I'm not black, I'm not white, I'm just an American.
Culture is a way of life that is based on beliefs, behaviors, morals and values. It's a way of life that has been passed down from one person to the next. Bonds that you share with someone else. It gives us our identity.
Skin color vs ethnicity: Isn't that the game? My mother is Scotish My father is Mexican My cousins are African I have blue eyes with a halo of orange fire
His game was astronomical  This young boy who loved to hunt In the underbrush of the forest sun halve past twelve A fox appeared ahead Golden fur and bright brown eyes 
    What It's Like To Be a Mixed Girl (for those of you who aren't) First of all, it's feeling like you fit in and then one day someone different appears in the mirror.
Though my skin is white, I still have to fight. For education, equality, acceptance. I promise I'm bright. Actually, I'm Hispanic, but you couldn't tell by my skin. Call myself hispanic, and it's considered a sin.
Affirmative action. A good idea? Perhaps. Equality for all races... Hate that word, races. Tells of a division Separate groups Of black, and white. "Why?" some ask Not understanding
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