"pigment" poems
It's a **** shame.. These girls are so different yet they are the same.. A figment of imagination .. To draw a line in the divine pigment and foundation.. 2 Queens in the same race.. In the same race.. Can't get along because of the tone on their face... Whatever the case I wish you all could get first place.. Don't let the color of your skin have you unfit within... I wish I could undraw that a line with the pen.. Of self hate that they handed us.. We didn't wanna hate eachother they demanded us... These skin tones... They tore us apart from the field to the kitchen.. Enough of the ******** & ******* QUEENS PRAISE QUEENS!!!!! And that final.. Instead of making enemies.. Make yourself someone's idol... Don't let this world segregate a segregated being.. I'm dedicating this to you.. Every dark skinned & light skinned Queen... ONE LOVE...
Jan 5, 2015
Jan 5, 2015 at 5:00 PM UTC
you were shrieking about your problems
your teeth were all about this material world
everything was all about you
because that's how you wanted it
you loved yourself
and only yourself
you were spitting money of all currencies and kind
you adore them like how i adore humankind
you boast loudly about the material things you own
you loved your things so much, you turned into one
and you think people would actually love you
boisterous laughs were hidden behind the old brick wall
the you i used to know were a pigment of the past
you are now pitch-black, self centered and selfish
the pit can simply be covered with mud or a beautiful plant
but you dig deeper and fall and ask for succor
because that's what you crave for after all
Oct 9, 2016
Oct 9, 2016 at 4:52 AM UTC
MELANIN BEAUTY
She was adorable in her coffee tinted skin
Her beauty as rare as the clustering of dragonflies
Amazing to look upon like the gathering of butterflies
Through her eyes stars felt closer than ever
Her lips was as beautiful as the opening of petals
My heart paused when our eyes came in contact
I felt like i have seen the queen of all that is beautiful
The envy of every woman there is to be
She was thin tall and adorned in elegance
Endowed with charisma of an Ethiopian princess
Her smile was first born
Her beauty always suffocated the crowd
All i could see was the wonder of her skin
I have fallen under the spell of this black queen
She was a fragile treasure, the elixir of beauty
She sparkled like she was kissed by the morning sun
She was never satisfied with her perfection
Trying to fix what GOD has personally certified
Denting you to wear a skin that isn’t yours
Like sharp sand i watched her beauty sink rapidly
She was deep rooted in self-doubt of her skin pigment
Not knowing the magnificence of her existence
She never knew she was a gush of glamour
Glorious to behold and graced with melanin
Gradually she became high on inferiority complex
She became lost in a world she was created to own
Your beautiful brown body is a work of art
Dipped in black gold and coated with brown sugar
You define an indestructible uniqueness
Your black skin is a badge of superiority
Black is magical and above comparison
Black complexion is the new religion .
Nov 1, 2017
Nov 1, 2017 at 10:18 PM UTC
Aren't they supposed to be people, too?
Pigment is really that important?
They are not *****
A separate restaurant,
Drinking fountain,
Theater,
Bench,
Everything!
Because you can deal with "different" people.
They had "rights,"
But if they were considered people, the segregation would not have happened. They had no choice.
The conditions were worse.
How is that fair?
Hardly any jobs were open to them.
And I know you know exactly what I am
Talking about, but I never said once
That almost everyone called them that one despicable word:
******
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 10:24 PM UTC
Pretty for a black girl?
Does that mean I’m pretty at all?
When you look at me
Is it only a pigment you see?
Pretty for a black girl?
What does my skin tone
have to do with the beauty
In me?
Pretty for a black girl?
Why is beauty only found if i'm fair?
Is my complexion the first thing you compare?
Pretty for a black girl?
Is that all I am?
Why must I be less than
the rest of them.
Pretty for a black girl?
Is a compliment that's cruel
I don't care what you say,
you're a part of the kingdom I shall rule.
Pretty for a black girl?
Do you say it to be mean?
Regardless, I remain the queen.
I am aware my coiling curls
or my tangled locks
may frighten you too,
that's good, they weren't created to impress you
Pretty for a black girl?
Don’t hate because my flawless color doesn’t need adjustments,
It is you that must alter tones to achieve approval.
Pretty for a black girl?
Approval is something I do not need,
Compliment as you please,
But my beauty grows quicker than you breath
While you flip your hair and tan your skin,
Watch me wink and grin,
because my confidence is the only style that's in.
Dec 18, 2015
Dec 18, 2015 at 10:02 PM UTC
sometimes things that are so amazing, so wonderful…
can confuse me.
the emotions fog up the window
(my brain is clouded with thoughts)
when the fog clears, there are beautiful
blue butterflies flying around
(um...how’d they get there.).
that’s what confuses me.
could those be the same butterflies
from my stomach that
makes me nervous around you.
or are they a pigment of my imaginations,
feelings that aren’t true and made up.
(a soft warning of pain to come)
(an assurance of how beautiful i really am)
(a demon ready to devour me)
what is it.
i name this little blue—
confusion.
she’s beautiful but quiet.
maybe i need her company.
eventually the truth will hit her
instead of hitting the window
(my brain is a pane of glass).
you can leave this dungeon, papillon.
fly! fly away with your gratefulness!
be free!
(my imagination runs wild
like these butterflies)
freedom awaits.
Jul 30, 2018
Jul 30, 2018 at 1:23 AM UTC
Nature has divine qualities
Beyond national divides
So heart enfold immortal love
Where one sees mountain dance and move
In this do love has no color
Skin pigment shouldn't be honor
For all bears reddish clot
As we tread on earth path
So soil of time embraces our body
As the enlived soul transpired to the sky
All become one in a starky heaven
Where no divide and rule leaven
Only unending peace it brings
Shrinking hearts with joy and unending smiles
As they commune in glows of divine instinct
For the greatest commandment is love
As bird fly above
So cloud of hate gives love as chance
Embracing one with will of divine
So our earth become an undying paradise
written by
Martin Ijir
May 9, 2017
May 9, 2017 at 11:23 PM UTC
The times here, mind clear
removed fear, mind fully-aware
they can’t calculate my circumference
they try-angle-hate to encompass
i’m too persistent
consistently consistent
my philosophy brilliant
they’re mindfully malignant
plots thicken and spots pigment
perfect gentlemen, acting indecent
handed them knowledge, didn't keep it
then peep game, telling secrets
I’m sure they’re getting seasick
its been written, still going off the top
the deep-end, the stuck on the plot
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 10:19 PM UTC
You are light
I am light
reflected through the crystal prism of
time
and
space
Each of us shines with a million colors
Fractals that glimmer
in certain light
at certain angles
What really matters
is what you see
my blue isn't your blue
or red or yellow
Those colors are determined
by our place in
time
and
space
There is an energy
consider it magic
that flows and weaves
in and out
of every person
or place or thing
And like a spell cast
that energy becomes our luster
When the sun starts to set
and its luminescence shines though
that cut and shaped glass
window in the front door
we all have
It spills our hue
for all to see
You become a rainbow
I become a rainbow
our pigment splashed on
life itself becomes our personality
And much like we all have
our favorite colors
that's what draws us
to one another
Jul 18, 2018
Jul 18, 2018 at 12:42 AM UTC
*You live in a world of all black and white.
Not the slightest glint of pigment, not the smallest touch of gray, not an inkling or a semblance of happiness or hope.
You blend in well with the world of black and white, of dullness and lethargy, knowing nothing other than lack of color and eternal melancholy.*
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 11:49 PM UTC
I’ve never dated a girl with green eyes
My girls always had brown
I like the mystery in not knowing where exactly
the pupil stands against the pigment
Nov 8, 2017
Nov 8, 2017 at 8:46 PM UTC
The garden admires you.
For your sake it smears itself with green pigment,
The ecstatic reds of the roses,
So that you will come to it with your lovers.
And the willows--
See how it has shaped these green
Tents of silence. Yet
There is still something you need,
Your body so soft, so alive, among the stone animals.
Admit that it is terrible to be like them,
Beyond harm.
8k
Features, my reflection—
subtle hints stare back offering wordless reply,
their evidence a betrayal of age.
A wrinkle looking deeper,
mane of face, of head—hairs
fresh lacking pigment.
Vain attempts made to mend heart,
to sooth soul's dread.
Testimony of experience
of wisdom, persistence, perception,
an impotent contraceptive, the argument
aberrant.
Regret to cloud memory, my youth
seeming a flesh and blood cliche.
Tiny footnotes heavy with prose,
words in bold
to distract mind's eye—a demand of attention.
Edging out tomb's more beautiful weight
of love and heartache
of passion's attempt failing,
to try again, sinking before succeeding.
An era's dusk and dawn anew, life's advent
unpredictable—without cause changing.
Notion hanging lingering, poisoning future,
the venom of defeat an insidious invasion.
This new age creeping toward night
in this stage my life's sun less bright.
Maturity's introduced responsibility,
some enjoyable while others to own hostility.
A brigand mugging freedom—time for leisure.
Spurring combat for what remains of youth,
fingers wrapping air in futile seizure.
The inevitable to command subservience,
presuming ownership of life, though the mature
demonstrate the defiance of the immature.
Objects, activities, music assaulting ear,
their manner,
symbols of strict adherence to who once was—
a spiteful surrender refusal.
A piece of me defining me until no more,
years holding power—threatening
to change who I am at very core.
Canvas construction the colour of murre,
rubber toe caps the shade of pure.
Design worn since youth, dead and resurrected;
a million mile shoe of valorous resistance—insurrection,
a Converse rebellion.
In torment of age's scars,
I'll never be too old to wear my All Stars.
Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 10:18 PM UTC
i.
Mine Dame
Unfasten mine cream pigment barong;
Scuff the tiny button's, serenadeth me with Tagalog.
ii.
None need for baon
Where we shalt go is not strained by materialism;
This is not a place of Balaam.
iii.
Mother-naked, ourn quiddity's latched
None leviathan demonic's, no human electronic's;
Mine darling, hug closely, none murrain pain's to be hatched.
iv.
Mine foremost, drinketh with me
Amour's Buko juice as a toast;
A barkada of high-up angelic's to guide ourn ghost's.
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Earl Jane nagley dedication/Filipino rose
Sep 16, 2015
Sep 16, 2015 at 7:44 PM UTC
There's history in my hair please don't touch, handle with care.
It's the same as this perfect pigment,
this melanin I wear
Richly rooted in my blood
Whether dark or fair
Sun kissed and kinked in bliss
More love for my 'rough n tough Afro puff'
She shines like the Sahara sun
She smells like the salt of the Gold coast sea.
Theres a hint of the bittersweet seed of the cocoa tree.
Feels like the pillow that holds all your dreams with the dry Harmattan wind brushing against your cheek
She'll whisper secrets of the motherland.... If you get close enough
She holds like Mina
Curls with pride
Falls with grace and integrity.
Stubborn like the struggle of the ones before me.
Gravity defying masterpiece that's just a single piece of me, a reminder of my ancestry.
It's my glory, my covering
Don't take it lightly, don't misunderstand, I'm a work of art so please peep but just don't touch.
© Raphaela Israel Öbeñg
Jan 19, 2019
Jan 19, 2019 at 10:36 AM UTC
Wake Up Wretched World,
I assert my Indigenous heritage
I self identify
With the ancestors of my continent
Identity afraid to articulate
Culture, unknowingly belonging to me
Cycle of shame now shattered
Product of love, hatred, lust, and desire
europeans plundering my mother Latin America
In chaos and violence, my skin's pigment
Has been engineered through the mestizaje
Of my Indigenous forefathers
How could I not forget my lineage
When the historical legacy of modernization
Has been to massacre the consciousness
Of where my people really come from
Erasing indigenous pride
Making Paisano and Indio
Synonymous with poverty and alienation
Insulting the humbleness
State of hunger you've left us in
Original lineage within me disturbed
So you push me to ambiguity and embarrassment
Not white, not indigenous?
Pure indigenous brothers and sisters silenced
Not an exploitable consumerist market, not in your campaigns
Not benefactors of your philanthropic development tactics
Bodies too costly to abuse, no reason to bring them
Into the neoliberal multinational corporate circuit
Constantly driving them off productive land
Because they choose to assert their identity
Live in collective communes, not owing you nothing
Waiting for them to make barren lands productive
So you can take those lands too
Not capturing an obscure history, these are not colonial times
This is the legacy of the european presence entering mother Latin America
21st century still defiling Indigenous cultures to civilize and modernize
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 10:26 PM UTC
bowling pin serenity
white and controlled
everyone loves the separatism
as it is encouraged and propagated
revolution as a fad
for ****
right to buy, die, fry, and try
skin-color guarantee
Paul Mooney, “complection for protection”
meaning my pigment protects me
from what….
I experience the loss of loved ones to cancer and illness
I suffer years of addiction and the lasting effects of liver damage
I am poor, was raised in poverty
my skin means nothing to the bill collectors
or the tax man
or the capitalist system
do I not suffer the slow poisoning
of industrialization
of globalization
infection
rejection
……
We all sit as slaves in this new America
I just happen to be in the front of the bus
Mar 12, 2014
Mar 12, 2014 at 12:32 PM UTC
islamophobia
at its finest
you couldn't have spoken truer words
three years before injustice
fell cascading down upon your head
like rocks
each one labeled
hate
fear
terror
and it's that label, drenched in your blood
that begs and screams to be renounced
i am not a terrorist
no,
you aren't, but every pale-skinned man
who doesn't know the pigment in your skin
as anything but dirt
couldn't see the difference
so yet, we fight
for you
your love, your voice
for every child that lives in fear
we will charge on
your skin tone
is not a death sentence
and the media who doesn't know
their right from their united left
will hear us
we do not need you
we do not need you
we do not need you
us many times as God will give us strength
we will charge on
for you
for them
for Palestine
for Syria
for every fear-filled child
we will remember
and for each one fallen,
trapped beneath the rocks
hate, fear, terror
we will set you free
Feb 12, 2015
Feb 12, 2015 at 6:46 AM UTC
she likes to dance in cemeteries naked
warring little but jeweled ***** bells,
ankle bracelets
toe rings
bingles, bangles, piercings,
through ******* and nose
her tongue split
each side wiggling independently
she gives head on a head stone
her blow jobs
like two undulating mouths
her skin inked with
black and blood tattoos that say
*Satan's little ***** *****
double penetrations preferred porfavor
the more buttery big ***** and pastry puffy ******* the better*
she
all purple hair tinged red
and antler horned hat
with silver toe and finger nails
a crazy saint sane
adored by the popes of the lascivious
eyes wide open over a crimson mouth sneer
cherry pout lips
gods gift to ***** and vaginas
a temple of relief exalting
Eros
a **** it bucket list of lust
her heart
cotton candy in flames
****** like a river of smashed potatoes
in cream
she like
phases of a corpse moon
begs to be used after death
like pigment on canvas
smeared red globes and chiaroscuro
she playing dead
living it up
do you know her
she keeps her secret hidden
on her sleeve
while you keep yours
from yourself
*bless me father for I have sinned
and loved every minute of it
yet dare not be happy
for fear of Gods rage*
my soul saved
turned fertile earth to sand
and shrouding vistas of light
till the bed is the bed
of the living dead
so there's nothin left but work and sleep
and dreams of drunken **** madness are buried
under the weight
marked forbidden
black sun curse
hips sway in ashes
a forbidden dance
Feb 22, 2018
Feb 22, 2018 at 10:42 AM UTC
The Purple People come in many sizes, from small to extra-large – some are quiet and smiley, while others are louder and chatty. What they have in common, apart from the obvious distinctive pigment, is a welcoming demeanour that makes you feel that you have perhaps met them before or that you would like to meet them again.
I first met a Purple Person as I climbed the steps, looking for reassurance that I wasn’t late and that I wouldn’t stand out too much in my nervous newness. I’m not sure what it was about their purpleness, but I felt one step closer to acceptance as I walked into the warm.
I saw the matching purple banners and smiled at the attention to detail and the attention given to me which, while practiced, was far from forced and held a genuine purpleness.
I met other Purple People at intervals, each with the purple family likeness of a smile, even though their heritage varied in shade. The further I walked, the more I relaxed and found that some of the Purple People weren’t wearing the signature purple tee shirts, but it was clear they came from the same palette because their welcome carried the same purple weight and the same authentic purpleness.
This shouldn’t have been surprising, as I soon discovered that they each bore the same purple family likeness of the Purple King who welcomes everyone.
Jul 3, 2021
Jul 3, 2021 at 2:48 AM UTC
I blot people onto me, just to buff them away. Soakin em, and pressin em on.
Dabbin, pressin, soakin, like temporary tattoos.
Easy to apply, and pretty to look at.
Fun to show off, without any commitments, and then I just let em peel away after some time.
After their bright pigment fades, or their adhesive fails, I just rub em off.
Scratch em with my fingernails sometimes, when I get impatient.
Rub, scratch, off. Now, right now. I’m tired of lookin at you, feelin you on my skin.
I wore you for a bit,
Now it’s time for a new one.
Rub, scratch, dab, press, soak, press again again again.
Skin red, dry skin rub rub dab dab dab peel peel dab peel.
And then,
the ones I like the most, the most beautiful, the most vibrant,
color, color, color.
Purple, green.
purple purple
Purple,
are the ones I try to keep the longest,
they’re always the quickest to fade,
and to peel,
and to fail.
Fail fail fail, come unglued.
Keep em out of the sunlight, outta the wind. In the dry. But they peel.
Peel peel peel, fail.
They fail.
And then,
I can’t find others quite like em. So I press on any old picture. Any color.
Gray, red, yellow, blue. Not quite right, no blue, no citron, no salmon.
Not quite purple enough.
Not quite green.
Not quite, never quite the same.
The same purple, the same green.
Just soak soak soak soak,
Press. Peel.
Until, again, something might feel right.
Jun 15, 2012
Jun 15, 2012 at 8:28 AM UTC
coffee breath,
9:42,
violet pigment under eyes,
tiresome sighs.
three hours and forty- one minutes of sleep,
my mind says no,no,no,no
my eyes are heavy
and so is my mood
heart sunken deep as eye bags
wondering if you actually care.
those blue-green eyes,
are they analyzing my feelings,
or algebra?
i just want you to feel the same way,
which is a way i have never felt before
mushy, gushy, stupid poems,
hopeless, delicate Juliet searching for Romeo in her peripherals
little Juliet, wake up, wake up,
go be the lioness you're accustomed to be
Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 1:01 AM UTC
Dr. King said “I have a dream”,
But his dream suffered homicide in the streets of our nightmares.
Murdered by the people who were supposed to protect us.
336 innocent people killed in 2015, because the police saw color instead of people,
I suppose the color of their skin was more important than human rights.
Because someone's melanin pigment spoke more to how people perceived them than did the color of their character.
So much has changed, but we’re not done yet.
There are still racists hiding behind screens, and cops who refuse body cams.
The white man in blue suits killings brown kid’s dreams, murdering their moments and god ****
Dr. King’s dream of peace and harmony dies in the eyes of every American citizen.
You know things ain’t right when you are more worried about your boyfriend with cops than with drug dealers.
You know something is wrong when walking with him at night is more dangerous for him than for me.
You know there’s a problem when there are too many cops, not enough justice,
Too many them and not enough us and....
Dr. King said “I have a dream”,
And.... So much has changed, but we’re not done yet.
When there are still people like Sandra Bland, and Mike Brown, who die for no reason, then we aren't done yet.
Because when people are more comfortable on a street with gun shots than cops, then we aren't done yet.
When I still get looks for having a black boyfriend, then WE AREN'T DONE YET.
We won’t be done until there’s equality, until there’s no more violence, it may not happen in my life time, but we aren’t done yet.
Apr 22, 2016
Apr 22, 2016 at 2:21 PM UTC