Bad Day

When I woke up one day,

I realized,

my personality wasn't the same as usual.

I had never acted this way before.

When I woke up,

my reflection stood over me, looking down on me.

I felt small,

like I was too scared to do anyhing.

My face was not the same.

It wasn't normal.

It wasn't normal for my face to have no emotion.

It was so hard for me to smile when my parents walked in and greeted me.

It was hard for me to look confused when I couldn't hear what they were saying,

and it was especially hard for me to close my eyes,

and cry,

when I stood there,

watching my family get murdered in front of me, my eyes my only witness.

Seeing them laying there, cold, on the dark cement, under the stars and the moon.

Their race, keeing them from seeing me smile outside, and die inside.

My body, unable to move the entire time.

Unable to run, to hug them, to feel at home.

Home is gone.

I was suddenly grabbed forcefully by my arms from behind, lifted up, and taken off.

Into the blue and red car and placed in a cold cell,

where I was accused of murder.

Did I know when my time was supposed to come?

Should I assume my short-lived life was prepared for me ever since I was born black and brown?

As I looked at myself in the scratched metal mirror,

I could see it, my reflection,

staring back at me. 

A pitch black face,

with a wide smile,

and red eyes,

pulled me into the dark where I still stand, cry and repeat my whole day over,

because of my race.

This poem is about: 
My community
Guide that inspired this poem: 

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