White is what I was born with
and people say it’s what I do.
White has never been important,
I say, but they call me a fool.

White is just a color, not a curse.
Not a sin, not a blessing, nor
a cause for me to feel worse
or better or rich or poor.

My skin is not who I am,
in my eyes anyway.
Colors–I don’t give a damn–
sometimes I wish it away.

My skin does not mean that I
take responsibility for evil in
the past that ruined many lives.
But I know I cannot win.

White can be an evil, as well as privilege too,
but all the others who I know,
black or brown, all feeling blue,
tell me that this is how I grow.

When I recognize that white means
not a single thing, for sure,
that colors do not make a man,
then I can change the world.

One thought at a time.
One step out of line.

White is what I was born with,
and maybe black is yours.
But trivial colors are not important
enough to wage social wars.

Love me for how hard I try,
not the tone in my face.
Hate me for how much I cry,
not aesthetic color taste.

I’ll never know racism in my life
the way that others do.
But every day I get called white
by people who haven’t a clue.


1 Comment

Filed under poems

One response to “Colors

  1. Amazing! Lovely! … I loved this one!

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