Skin

My skin is like the ancient sands of Egypt 

It tells stories of slave ships 

and negro spirituals

Kidnapped culture 

and African rituals

 

My skin is the Nigga History Book,

Memoirs of imperfect angels snatched out of Heaven

Harriet Tubman 

Page three 

Fredrick Douglas 

Page four 

Phillip Bell

Page five 

Why can't I tell the story of my skin 

without starting at the end of my people?

 

My skin is bronze like pennies on the streets

The most disregarded form of money

To drop it is to glance back

And decide it's not even worth it

 

Can someone tell me

How can I love a world that has taken open range on mine?

People file into police academies

Trained to "save the world" and deliver caskets at my door step.

My skin is the color of fading grass

My porch view, is open graves

The front pew, is our Sunday picnic 

Im tired of funeral songs being the negro anthem 

 

Entertaining conversations about genocide in a country I ain’t never heard of 

and a country you ain’t never been to

I get it.

Africa is poor

Haiti is broken

Asian government is corrupt

But baby we got war too

America, open up your pretty blue eyes,

The war is here. The problem is in front of us. 

 

But what is the answer? 

My skin is the last altar call

Begging for reconciliation 

We need glue for broken communities,

We need stitch work for torn realities,

We need peace at battle lines, 

We need sleep for the battle cry 

 

It is not what is the answer. It is Who? 

 

His skin is the roadmap of the Gospel

From Egypt to Heaven

From law to light

From sinner to Reverend

From promise to fulfillment 

From death to Life

From eden to eden 

His name is Jesus. 

His skin is as brown as this poem

His skin is as alive as His people

His skin is as brown as I am broken

His skin is as alive as freedom 

 

His skin is what comforts me

 

And because of Him, forgiveness is on the table 

Reconciliation is the record playing over 

and over 

and over 

and over again

It is the only melody that puts my hate to sleep 

See, because I was reconciled to Him 

So you must be reconciled to me

And vice vera

 

My white brothers and sisters, 

My asian brothers and sisters,

My Latin-American brothers and sisters,

My Native American brothers and sisters,

Skin sometimes feels like a barrier

But it is indeed the bridge