This Black Skin....
How racism led me to self hatred
The sun comes up,
I follow its lead.
I head to the mirror,
Gotta brush my teeth.
I look in the mirror and who do I see?
Me… Just me.
Now it’s time for school.
Time for some human interaction.
“You’re one of the good black people”
Well shit… Didn’t know you knew them all…
What kind of compliment is that…
Whatever, dude is wack.
“You’re a credit to your race”
The audacity…
To say that to my face,
As if this black skin was mix and match,
And I could somehow make a choice to erase or replace.
“You’re not really black”
And what makes you say that?
Cause the black people you see on TV don’t represent me…
I go home from school.
Return to the mirror and now the picture I see is much less clearer.
You’ll never be good enough.
You’ll never be hood enough.
God you make me sick.
How I wish I could rip off this black skin that I’m trapped in.
Why can’t they see me for just me…
I’m desperate…
I’m crying out please…
Can somebody,
Anybody,
Please…
Look at me