Pale Paper

I write because I am as pale as the paper my pencil pierces.

I am as pale as the paper while my father's skin glows with a glaring bronze.

My father's skin is bronze, but his darkness will not taint my skin.

Without a taint on my skin I remain a pure white.

In this pure white I am burdened with the sin of ancestors I never knew.

The weight of slavers whom I bear no likeness too,

The weight of racists who do not carry my name,

The weight of an inheritance I have never understood.

I write because I don't want to be anything more then the person who pierces pale paper with her pencil.