I had no self-respect,
So I covered my flesh,
So I lowered my gaze
So I held my tongue
So I quashed my anger.
King Solomon wrote in Ecclesiastes, that to everything there is a season;
It follows that in life and death, there is a purpose and a reason.
As we sow, so shall we reap; said St Paul in Galatians.
The world turns, weather changes that holds true for every nation.
I live in anger, in hatred, I was born into
shouting, vile insults and outbursts,
and when I step out into the world
the world spits back just as worse.
The grass is only greener on the planet
where confusion, ammunition, panic,
murder, explosions, execution,
He does not talk to me, but relies on the news,
He sees men murder man and wants me to lose
all my rights, my beliefs, my faith, my blood,
He names me a disgrace, he calls my religion mud.
She does not engage me in long-held conversation,
about my views of the news or sexual orientation,
my hopes, my dreams, of equality, of peace,
She demands my worship stop or my heart cease,
A cherished childhood spent cocooned in my inward-looking community,
Protected me from the indoctrination of a white-privileged history.
But when I stepped into a world where brown was under-represented
My identity…Was molested.
My speech, skin, hair and dress, seemed to cause the white man stress.
And brown was a tan on the white man’s skin,