Email Poem

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Personal Note:

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Poem

A paper and a pen 
I need a few to tell stories of my pain 
Not of what has passed 
But of that which is to come 
If this isn’t a curse tell me what it is 
Pink skin yet of my father’s race 
No melanin even on the hair on my face 
I fear the sun, it doesn’t favor my kind 
I fear the dark; it plays games with my mind 
And I fear my own people,  
That I’m a man they don’t mind 
"People-phobic,
I thought they were brothers "
Maybe not anymore because they have places to go, 
Houses to build, cars to buy, 
A life to live, food to dine; 
Because they think I am the gateway to Jacuzzis 
That my bones are a fortune worth taking a life for 
I was only born different as my purpose was, different 

Should I scream? Should I mourn? 
Should I call the pastor to do my eulogy? 
Should I be waiting for another sunset? 
Maybe bid farewell to the melodies from the air? 
How long should I be living in terror? 
For we never know, who and when it will be 
Brothers are slaying brothers 
Whom shall I trust? The police? 
Who is to blame? The neediness? 

Should I cover my skin from the sun? 
And hide my skin from your sons? 
If I had dark skin, I would breach 
To save my skin, and ease mama’s worries 
But this pale cocoon will take me to the grave  
Save me, I am a son and a brother too 
I am a mother, and a patriot too 
I have dreams, and a future ahead 
I am just different, and not the “Capital”

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