'Under My Black Skin' ~Kimster G. (Original Poem 3/11/16)
Under my black skin what do you see?
A person, a label, a construct of me?
Appropriated and broken down like a diagram,
Love what I do but not who I am.
The air is thick and heavy with the permeation of hate.
In this surreal reality, what will it take to abate?
Profanities, insults and tear gas hurled,
Gasping for breath on the ground, in the fetal position curled.
Hated, loathed, denied our power,
We are entering into the darkest hour.
You loathe ‘Black Lives Matter’ because it shouts the truth,
Rather ignore the bodies of unarmed youth.
We lift every voice and sing from our lungs.
We're more than just stereotypes of hoodies and guns.
We say our lives matter, some refute it’s a joke.
On our own words of power we try not to choke.
It shouldn’t be difficult to evolve and progress,
But mobs at rallies show a penchant to regress.
If the calm is this condition’s final form,
We’re all in for one hell of a storm.
Under my black skin what do you see?
An equal, a fighter, the strength in me?
