Red.
The color of my skin.
Red.
The color we wear to show the women who are no longer there.
A painted hand across my face, a mark this country tries so hard to erase.
Shadows of history
It refuses to embrace.
Hiding the shame inflicted upon us just because of our race?
Red.
The color of my face, filled with anger.
Twisting in rage.
Injustice to the people who first inhabited this place.
We The People? Which People?
We are people, too.
People with red in our hair, the blood dripping down the strands, our scalps in their hands.
We are deserving.
A shame so disgraceful, yet thrown in our face.
Red.
The color of the blood they spilled.
Red.
The color of the people they killed.
White.
The canvas they painted, to cover their blight.
White was the snow on the ground before our blood poured down.
The blood of our people
Who’s skin wasn’t.. right?
No. Wasn’t white.
White passing, but time is everlasting.
Generations pass, yet we still feel the pain inflicted in the past.
Blue.
Like the bruises marring our skin, our demeanor thin.
Shallow eyes from all the sleepless nights
Nights away from our children, the kids who hadn’t sinned.
Ripped away, while the skies were still gray.
Blue.
Like the waters they came across
Arrows thundering down, can you hear that sound?
The sound of all the cries- of the children taken in the night.
Dec 8, 2025
Dec 8, 2025 at 3:45 PM UTC