Colored Portrait
A poem
There are layers to a colored portrait.
Layers you have to work through
to find acceptance when
you are not just colored
but an immigrant,
from “muslim” countries,
With an accent
from one of those
“shithole” countries
With the perseverance
of “illegals”
Or when your color is not on
their flag
and the rainbow
Is not enough to fit
the spectrum of identities, or possibilities
of who you can be in this world.
Is it safer to be the same?
To live in black and white frames
Would the wall of biases between us
collapse if whitening creams worked
and our English was colonized
with British, French, and German accents
and not the African dialects
of corrupted and lost languages.
Would it be easier if my femininity
didn’t sit in a guy’s body?
Should I have died at the borders
of my country and used my bones
to extend the barbed wire
to save you from others like me?
Is it safer if I was just like you?
Could I ask to be alive?
Could I ask to be accepted,
loved and protected ?
