She speaks volumes,
Blacker than charcoal, she ain’t see through,
With weak strands of white hair—
Courtesy of my Grandma.

She falls out when a comb rakes through.
She doesn’t dance with the wind,
Instead, she rebels against it,
A protester standing her ground against authority.

She stays silent even in pain.
Even when malnourished,
She doesn’t beg for food.
Just stays quiet, keeping it in
Till it’s too much and she begins to break
Strand by strand, withering away
… And I go bald!

So many poems
and stories
have gone unwritten
due to fear of not being good enough

You asked, "what can you imagine for yourself and the world?"
I imagine a world where I will not be judged by the color of my skin.
Where I will not be made to feel out of place,
because I come from a different background and race.  
Where kids from different places will come together and embrace
each other, live in peace and harmony,
become a family.
Where a man can sit in his car seat
and not be pulled over because he got a little melanin in his skin.


I imagine a world that will not be perfect,
But it will not be far from perfect.
There will be arguments and misunderstandings,
But it will be ones that can be solved with a simple apology.
No need for the guns, that is too quick to shoot.
No need for the hate, that is too quick to judge.
All we will need in this world that I have imagined
is a lot of love and understanding.

Sometimes I am overflowing with emotion
that I am unable to identify
So all I want to do is cry
But why?
If someone saw the river as I let it out of my eye
and they ask me 'why,'  I wouldn't be able to reply
I would be at a loss for words because I too don't now
"why?" would then become such a complex question
a math problem that I do not possess the formula to.

There has to be a reason.
Water boils because there's fire underneath,
But I do not know who lit it.
All I know is that the water is boiling.
All I know is that I want to cry,
But I dare not for I do not have an answer to "why?"