The sky above me is getting darker as the color of my skin.
The longer I stay under this American sky,
my heart gets darkened by the black ink they call race.
My heart gets anxious when I turn on my computer,
when I put the keys in ignition,
when I walk outside,
and when I raise my hand.
I remember clearly the first time I felt black like I am feeling a rain drop on my dark skin.
That was long ago now,
memories of myself not waking,
walking and talking while black have almost faded away.
Jean Luc Dushime