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Elliott Jun 2017
I’m
a black,
queer,
atheist,
woman (***),
???? (gender).

Life is going to be so hard.
Oh Trumps
Elliott Jun 2017
I have tried many ways to think of her but
Astronomy was the only way I could write on.
I've tried to comfort her out of despair, but
I couldn't find the words to take her out of pain.
When I heard he made her cry,
I wanted to take the pain out of her,
put them into his face and my fists as
I hit him into the oblivion space we know space to be, and
him see the stars closer than any telescope had seen.
I wouldn't mind being in pain for a little while so
the sun could dry her tears,
she was trying so hard to hide.

Would it be so terrible for me to remind her
how the stars bowed in her presence?
Would It be so terrible for me to show her
nobody sees the stars
and the beauty of night anymore
because they are afraid of her
and the beauty she brings?
I too scared to ask if she knows
how you left her after class
to scream at the universe for
making her believe
she was anything less,
than the closest thing to perfection
the universe has to offer. Does she
know how you've collected books of
nebulas in your heads that show when
she decides to laugh? Does she know
you how hard this is for you, to sit here
and smile and joke like your heart
doesn't break with hers as you see her
in a pain deeper than imaginable and you
know it. It spans across all universes and expands
further than your love of poetry and your longing to
hug her and tell her it's going to be okay, but
you know that's not true,
and you can never make that true.
So you sit here,
and write a love poem never to be read,
because that means something would die inside you
or her
if you shared how much of the universe you could give to her
how much of the universe
and the stars
and the planets
and the comets
and meteors
you could shower her with
if she knew how beautiful she was....
ugh
Zero Nine Jun 2017
Maybe I believe there's more to your heart than colored skin thoughts, thoughts of a blanket death, intent to devastate the space for differences maybe I believe it is innate, truly human to set fright aside for the good of futures, then what are you? Hateful eyes disguise the beauty in you designed to shine among the others but I can't teach through resistant bitterness and I won't speak when it means I only speak to waste my breath on you, on you.
Two
Branson Rideaux Jan 2017
I'm a black actor
So my monologues are gospel
my dialogues are political
my blocking is a statment
My diction is forgiven

I'm a black actor
So Shakespeare speaks above my melanin,
Avant guarde is a canvas too fresh for color
And the urban expierence
    Is a glove that fits too well to remove

I'm a black actor
So my casting is guaranteed
My bio line is their defense against vulturous social critics circling the audition table
They need a black actor
I'm a black actor
Jayce Apr 2016
What I want to know is why?
Why am I told to remember the tragedy of 9/11, but when I bring up the tragedy of my people once enslaved, I am told that it was years ago and I should “get over it”?
Why when I make a joke at a Caucasian friend’s expense does his face grow disgusted and he spats the word racist at me, then turns around and make a joke at a black man’s expense and expects me to laugh?
Why am I told that I am “boring” or that “no one likes being around an angry black woman” when I rise up to speak about the obstacles all people of color face in the modern society?
Why is it that my Caucasian friends are allowed to rely stories of being called racist with voices grim and shocked, but if I ask, “Well, were you being racist?” they look at me as if I’ve offended them?
Why is it a normal thing for people of color to rise and speak about their experiences of being a minority, only to have a Caucasian person slap a metaphorical hand over their mouth by saying, “You’re not the only one who’s experienced racism”?
Why as a child growing up was I taught by society that darker skin was less desirable, that if I was dark I shouldn’t wear pastel bright colors, that my blackness isn’t worshipped, but now in modern day society I am forced to watch Caucasians wear weave, get braids, do things they consider “being black” and have praise rain down on them?
Why should I have to listen to my Caucasian friends use the word “*****” as if their ancestors didn’t pronounce the word the same way someone would call a dog a mutt?
Why when I asked my Caucasian friend to explain why her crush wasn’t her type, she mentioned his blackness not as a worry that someone might not agree, or because years ago it wouldn’t be allowed, or as a concern that the way the modern world seems to be against him, but as if his blackness deemed him less dateable?
Why?
Ashley Etienne Jul 2015
Do you know the meaning of "stop and frisk"?
I'm sorry black brother, you do.
Have you ever had to change your voice in order to get a job?
I'm sorry black sister, you have.
Have you ever had to remove your hijab because you needed to take a flight?
I'm sorry brown girl, you have.
Has anyone ever insisted you have extensive knowledge on every school subject?
I'm sorry yellow friend, someone has.
Have you ever been told to go back to your country, despite the fact that you're already there?
I'm sorry red man, you have.
Have you ever been called and illegal immigrant, but you were born in the u.s?
I'm sorry Latino friend, you have.
Have you ever been told that racism doesn't exist and, by someone with pale skin?
I know I have.

So this is to the ones who have been told that they "aren't black enough" because they use proper grammar and their pants don't sag.
The brown boys with beards that get called "towel heads"
To the Asian kids that are just as smart as the next guy.
To the native Americans that still get called Indians.
To the brown girls that get told that they don't have to wear their scarves because "we're in America"
Racism is still a problem in the U.S. And a lot of other places.  
It's a problem for everyone who isn't white.
So for someone to say it doesn't exist, is just infuriating.
We are dying every day and people say its our fault.. But they're killing us.
Soumia May 2014
I am a person of colour

Whose simple presence can cause outrage
they use their tongues as swords
and slay me with slurs
Whilst there are others who pretend to be my ally
but I can see their disgust in their eyes
their uneasiness in their smile

I am a person of colour

Whose beautiful traditional garments are cherry-picked
and woven into a disgusting replica
brandished on “Designer labels”
and mocked as exotic

I am a person of colour

Whose skin is secretly envied by them
they exhaust their expenses on tanning salons
and “bronzing” creams
Yet simultaneously they spit on my “darkness”
and promote their products with the so-called beauty of “lightness”

I am a person of colour**

I shall not hide my anger at their ignorance
I shall wear my skin with pride
Because being a person of colour
No matter what I do or how I conform
They will never be satisfied

— The End —