Skin – Chelsea Nelson

Was it my skin that made me a sin?
That made me hated by the white men?
Or was it that brother
Full of soul and color raising his fist higher than any other?

What about that sister hand full of blisters from raising that sign towards the sky?
What about the children weeping, asking God “why”?
Or the preacher and the teacher tired of seeing their people cry
All while singing in the streets just so they won't see anymore die.

What about that lady holding an 8 month old baby watching her husbands dangling legs?
Or that mother of that brother trying to keep a positive head.
Could it be that young boy playing with another
Who would never again see his mother

While Martin Luther King is dreaming
And the rest of us are singing
Rosa Parks not giving up her seat
As we continued to sing in the street

That long black panther meeting
While a brother is taking a beating
From the dangerous sit ins
To the dangerous masked men

We grew more powerful than any other.
I want to thank Ms. Rosa and Dr. King
As well as that dark skin brother
And tired mother.

The lives lost were not in vein
In hopes that you all shall reign
In heaven above
Sharing that soulful peace and love.