Jackson Mississippi, 1964
We walk down the street.
Hand in hand.
They see us.
One black. One white.
A peasant and a ruler.
Together.
We see their feelings in colors.
Hatred, in clean crisp black.
Anger, in a pulsing red.
Uncertainty in pink
Surprise in bright neon yellow
We see their looks,
Burning
Watching
Questioning
Us.
We pass, looking to other
For confidence.
We find it.
It makes us
stronger
Powerful
Impervious
To the looks
That burn us
That question us
We are not two
We are not one
We are us.

We’re told that words can never hurt us
That the wounds they leave are just cuts
But the shrapnel’s made its mark
And struck the spark
There aren’t any visible scars
There hiding behind closed bars
Waiting for the moment
For the gates to open
Just because I’m different doesn’t mean you can
tease me
Hurt me
Abuse me
I’m just the same as you,
And that doesn’t mean that words don’t hurt
And you can throw me in the dirt
Think before you say
Think before you tease
That person is just the same as you