Dirty
I hate my skin
I am not good enough to be
White
I am not good enough to be
Black
I am lost
In the middle
I shed my culture
Against my will
My language lost
Forced to kill
They took my land
My home
My children
I have walked a billion miles
I have cried a trail of tears
Have been confined
In my own head
Killed
I walk the colored halls
Marked by my own skin
I am nothing
But have always existed
So now I unbraid my hair
Kick away my moccasins
Rip away my beaded gown
I am the between
Stuck in a color line
Forgotten, alone,stereotyped
Judged before we met
Seen by just my skin
Can you see with your heart?
See me from with in?
I am the victim everyone forgot
Scorned in paintings or school mascots
Raped, cheated reformed
Can you hear the warriors drums?
Can you hear my people's screams?
Can you taste their scattered blood?
I can.
So now I paint my face for war
Now I stand tall again
Ready to face your hate filled glares
Seeking the power of my ancestors to meet your stares
Now I slip on a cloak of pride
To shield me from whispered spite
And if you show me kindness
I am by your side
And if you show me kindness
I will never fight
I now wear beads and moccasins
Not ashamed
I wear pride.
YOU ARE READING
Tell it Like it is
PoetryMy story, memories, and poems. It is all unedited, sorry. A lot of it is poems. I will organize it later. For now I will put symbols by memories and my story(∆). Trigger Warning: This book talks about cutting, E.D., psych-wards, burning, mild schizo...
