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
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”
Copyright © Billy Mlonda | Year Posted 2019