Melanin Stained Skin
Melanin stained skin
Everyone’s staring, glaring through me
Watching each and every step I take
Like a child who’s curious about her own shadow on a bright summer’s day
My mother, father, family
Grew up in times much worse than now
But why does it seem like nothing’s getting better
I know I was granted my 40 acres but
Why am I the mule working the land that my family was forced to work their entire lives?
Having to work twice and thrice as hard for something everyone should be able to have
Yet I still end up with nothing to my name
A name that will soon be forgotten in this place
That I was forced to build after it was stolen
Cleansed of any being with that melanin stained skin
Skin that matches all tones of the earth
And here I am now, still working for the man who’s
too lazy, too pompous, too good to get his hands dirty
in fear of staining his skin of the dirt and blood of people like me
Too easy for his own skin to become stained like mine
Like those who were killed off
Like those who were forced from their homes, separated, and raped.
Only to be given false promises of equality
Separate but equal, separate but equal
I guess we were equal with our run down schools, tattered clothes, and rusty water fountains that matched our
melanin stained skin
but like y’all say, somebody like me doesn’t belong here since we didn’t take part in co-authoring history
Where is the love?
Oh? You love my food? You love the way “we” dress? You like my music?
Why am I seeing bits and broken pieces of myself all over you yet you push me to the side like you’ve just stepped in dog shit
When will I live in a society where I will feel comfortable walking out of my door?
When will the day come for me to not worry about any
person of color coming out of a confrontation alive
Help me! Help me truly love myself!
Help me to love my lips, my mannerisms, my butt, my everything before I see it in the next fashion magazine or at the forefront of the next big trend
I want to love every nook and cranny about myself, I yearn for the day that I don’t wish the scrub my skin of the melanin that continues to stain it
Because as much as you tell me that I’m beautiful, as much as you tell me that my vernacular is flawless, as much as you tell me that I am are worth being here,
I will never believe you, I’ll never believe in the false promises of my so-called home
Not until we stop telling ourselves, no not until you stop telling us that all we need to do is white out our flaws
Maybe the stains on my skin will disappear after the next cleansing of our nation.