I haven’t written a poem in quite some time—a few months maybe? Lately, the poems I’ve shared here have been a bit old. I’m trying to get back into the swing of things—make this blog all about my writing. I’ve been suffering from a nasty case of writer’s block when it comes to poetry (see here). So, starting today, I’m going to try to give you guys a new and original poem every day. Some may be long; others may be short. It all depends on how inspired I am and how much I can overcome this writer’s block. No more recycled poems from me, ladies and gentlemen. This is the real deal, no holds barred, poetry writing slam! Here we go! Oh, and I’m a bit rusty, so excuse me if this first poem well . . . er . . . kind of sucks.
All brown children color their drawings.
Mothers, fathers, siblings
shades of yellow, red, black.
Self portraits traced with edges of brown crayons;
they know their identities long before
they are taught about race
What color is my skin?
Unique like no other
blacker than the berry,
sweet as the juice.
They document it—
mix different shades of nude on their pallets
wielding artistic instruments—
colored pencils, crayons, markers.
They match their complexions without flaw.
Tiny realists, they are—
erasing their existence from history
We are here.
Little brown children see color
they know theirs
and are not afraid to show the world.