This is a poem that I've created a few years back. At this time I had great sorrow because I began noticing the evil ways by which black people were being treated. I began to notice the way that they treated each other, with such hatred amongst one another. I then realized that it was due to skin color. Blacks hated themselves because of their skin color and they hated each other. I saw how other races treated blacks, looking down upon them and believing that they were useless.
You want me to hate my skin color; my brown skin that I was endowed with?
My dark skin that was placed on me unknowingly? My skin that was arranged for me, predestined and conclusive before I could even know.
Unknowingly, I was being formed. My traits, my disposition, my image, all created by Him.
You want me to hate my skin color?
My ancestors where imprisoned, drudged, slaved and were counted for nothing but to do the white man's exertion.
My skin color was hated and still is disparaged.
I hear banter and I see shame and disgrace from my own people.
They are abashed for their own skin; embarrassed and mortified amongst all.
Today, I am grieved.
My people... hear me.
For we are beauteously created. Our brown skin is the color of richness and warmth, covered in history, layered in strength and faith.
My people, hear me, for we are beautiful.
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