It is not where you have been,
or the color of your skin,
that determines your real worth.
God loved you before your birth!
So…be still, listen and know:
what life will to you, now show,
and wherever hence will trod,
He is with you…Go with God.
- by Darrell Simmerman © 2025
She walked into the room without any word, and with familiars eyes staring through her whispering a silent, "Why "?
And then walked past every mirror, hoping her reflection somehow change, become lighter figure.
A little more acceptable to a world that taught to fade when they were born to be seen?
And then she think why did society neglected the darker kids with a fade figure?
Then she stopped and looked at herself.
"I'm beautiful in every way. "
I'm just beautiful in the way I carry myself, ln the way I stand
In the way i represent my self without asking permission to take up space.
Brown skin are natural Tan
Glows with the every kiss the sun leaves upon me.
And my thick hair it is my mink coat, a crown of richness not everyone can afford .
I am the girl
Who learned to love her reflection, the girl who turned her scars into petals _
And the strongest flowers and the ones that“bloom through every season”
she drifts where moonlit waters gleam,
her voice a thread within the stream~
each ripple hums her ancient song,
soft as the hush between a dream.
T’is the July cold
Carried into August
A hot cup of tea’s sold
For salvation promised
Shivers down the spine
Hairs on forearms stand
To be sheltered just fine
Mark of a strong brand
I sway in the wind
Puckered skin
Collared coat pinned
Against cold to win
Your eyes are dream
Like a river
Flows through skin
What a lovely lamp,
not contemporary style,
from the good old days,
early Dachau I am told
it's very old, menschlich skin.
Inspired by Issa Kabayski haiku poem "a bath when you`re born"
***********************************************************************************************************
warm hands hold new-born
first breath greets the humid air
water cleans the skin
last gasp turns to mist
cold water soothes the tired bones
heavy hearts find rest
in lifetime no heed
when deceased why wash the skin
can it cleanse the soul
Of all the animals I could be,
which one would fill me with glee?
No fur here with a flea,
maybe smooth skin is the key.
I would love to see,
the great big blue sea.
Cool pretty water I would love to feel,
it makes me want to real.
With friends I can play and squeal,
as a fish we will steal.
I feel like a big wheel,
even through I am just a cute little seal.
Shedding skin to grow
All these years have passed me by
Will you help me grow?
Justice or JUST US -
It seems to be - that this is NOT -
Just a trend, but a common thread,
To how things seem to work -
And no I'm not being woke,
Us Black people just seem to know,
How -
This world works.
We see with our eyes open,
They see with wilful ignorance,
Double standards become the white man’s self fulfilling prophecy,
A legacy -
Created to keep Black people in a state of misery,
In a state of unwanted complacency,
In a state of anxiety -
Of an unknown future,
Where self defence is a life sentence,
And being attacked is a death sentence
Justice was never for US,
Just for U -
Who?
Non Black people -
They get excuses,
We get damnation,
Their violence is proof - of abuse,
Our innocence - twisted to fit the narrative,
Damned if we defend ourselves, damned if we don't,
Either way we don’t get to go home,
A body bag or a prison cell?
Either option is a different version of hell.
Justice is not for us -
A Black person.
We do not get the privilege of impartiality,
Just the label of guilty,
Where the colour of our skin -
Meant justice was a case we would never win.
Invasions I fear
How good am I with the sword?
I protect brown skin
Obsess with the color of skin
do you ever see a person
Judge by perceived beliefs
not by a conversation
Every person has a soul
each created by God
in His image
Yet base all emotion
on skin color.
Walk a mile in his moccasins
or only see a pigmentation
with judgement based solely on that.
I myself am not perfect
I am a blend of humanity
trying to live and let live with peace.
Cannot see what is seen by some
to know everything about an individual
just by skin color.
Simple minds believe simple things
When you fall in love, true love
do you see a person, a spirit, a soulmate
Or are you busy checking off
a skin color match first.
Love is blind
Hate sees what it believes
Safety in comfort, similar, likeness
Color of skin important
is it everything
The mind of being human within Divine
our heart is who we are and to become.
The air in the basement archives
tasted of rotted velvet and wet
copper.
A low, wet breathing synchronized
perfectly with the rhythm of your
own pulse.
Skin-bound ledgers bled dark,
viscous oil onto the warped oak
on the floorboards.
The whispers began, raspy
and toothless chanting your
true name from the shadows.
You looked down to find your
own fingers drying, flattering,
and turning into yellowed
parchment.
The emergency exit signs bled
into a deep, sickening crimson
that cast no light.
Something tall, loose- limbed,
and blind crawled upside down
across the ceiling timbers.
Every exit had vanished, replaced
by endless, towering stacks of
blank, waiting tombstones.
Needle-sharp, paper -thin claws
drove deep into your shoulders
from behind.
The entity peeled back your chest
to index your beating heart under
CLASSIFIED!.
Twin seams cross the skin,
Threaded paths where
smiles once lived,
Mending what was torn.
It’s a specific ache of a translucency.
When the void lays bare in the existential oblivion of a consciousness too far to reach.
When the light dims, energy draining the colours of my essence; shades of red metallising the shallow of my breaths.
When the fatigue tugs on my beauty spots. Each speck a black hole of invitation, a desperate grasp of a life thrown to the illusion of my shadows.
The glistening, teary craters smile at me.
Each glint of silver illuminating the rhythmic, pounding anticipation lying behind the cave of my voice box.
The craters were a testament to my survival.
They were a testament to my endurance.
A testament to my unwanted persistence; carved out of torment and ignited in anguish.
And I find, it is a specific ache of a cataclysmic triumph against the abyss of my own inevitability.
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