Love Knows No Racial Bounds

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An image of your ebony skin
is burned into the edges of my mind,
a stark contrast against the
tan of my own.
It resides beside a deep fear of mine,
a swirling void of judgment
in the eyes of those that may see
the differences between you an I.


Slivers of various points in time
flow between the two,
spoken words from a sister of mine.
They show her light and his dark,
pressing together in the form of hands,
and an ancient proverb spoken:
"White girls are taking all our good black men."

I can't help but feel the weight
she must have felt on her chest--
the urge to respond , to clarify,
that she is not a white girl.
But what good would that do?

What difference can people see
between Caucasian and Hispanic
when their minds are blinded by
pre-taught beliefs and views?

I am awed by the thought
of her gripping his hand tighter,
a silent fight burning in her eyes.
What strength she must possess
to not turn away from such ridicule.
At first, I could not fathom it.

But when you smile at me
and laugh so freely,
I think I begin to understand
where she finds the courage
to sit down when every muscle
in her body tells her to stand up.

An image of your ebony skin
is burned into the edges of my mind,
a stark contrast against the
tan of my own.
It resides beside a deep fear of mine,
a swirling void of judgment
in the eyes of those that may see
the differences between you and I.

But another image exists,
our hands intertwined in sweet embrace,
and it blurs the world around it,
and I feel as a conqueror would,
gazing upon their enemies.
 

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