Pippi B. Poet Ode

An Ode To the Man With Vitiligo

He got on the train at 
52nd street. I was already 
sitting on the chilly blue seats 
with my niece who pulled on 
my curly black hair, trying to 
get my attention when it was 
stolen by him. 

With the sun dirty dancing on
his face, I saw him, a man,
so striking, so beautiful he was
his disease, his strength 
his strength, his confidence
his confidence, his beauty
his beauty intoxicating.

I wanted to kiss the 
blotches of his skin-
the shapes of peninsulas
on his hands, Australia 
around his nose, Africa 
on his eyes, America 
around his lips-
where melanin used to be. 

Though I would have given 
a little of my melanin to 
cure his incurable disease, 
he didn't need it. For so many,
outside appearance intertwines
with beauty. He had more depth, 
his disease doesn't define him. 

I wanted to kiss the
mahogany color of his skin, 
smell the butterscotch on his 
lips, delve into his mind probably 
so rich of diamonds and gold,
he's a remedy for my shallowness, 
the train comes to a stop. We smile 
at each other as he gets off.

♡Like0

Share Poem

---

Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.

Please Login to post a comment