Brown Skin

Sometimes I stare at the back of my hands
At the brown skin covering my frame
And try to convince myself that
Brown is

B e a u t i f u l

But in that caramel color I see
S h a m e
A n g e r
D e s p a i r

Sometimes I stare at the back of my hands
And I am exhausted
When the weight of all I must overcome

C r a s h e s

Into my s h o u l d e r s

America was built upon the backs of ancestors I’ll never even know of
And hundreds of years later
I can’t breathe for the weight of all that I am owed

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