Colour of Peace

Ancients have travelled long and far just to look at her curls

It wasn’t long ago she was made fun of her skin because it was not fair

Like the Earth she was moulded from, her skin was brown

She wanted nothing to escape the torment while there are battles over race

Race against what? Time? Why are we treated differently when we all breathe

She wonders out loud, for the first time, “ Is it my fault for wearing different skin?”

Cold to the touch, her blood is complex- a blue hue to her brown skin

Coily, Springy… Frizzy; different ways to describe her curls

She froze on the spot- praying they don’t reach out and touch- the shallowing of breath

She lost faith that it would be different this time- because of ones with skin so fair

They are bested at the finish line every single time, but it’s not that type of race

She’d been taught that the only way to win; is if your skin isn’t brown

Blue, Red, Purple, Yellow, Black or Brown

That is what people say, right? In the constant debate about matters of skin

It’s more than that; my identity, my right, my family… my race

Passed down from generations, just like the pattern of my curls

It only took twenty years to reteach what others told me… does that sound fair?

Loving who you are, where you came from should be easy as taking a breath.

As much as we want love, how many more people need to scream they can’t breathe?

How many more people need to be hunted because they are brown

How many more white people need to be in charge before we realize they don’t fight fair

It’s more difficult not to care when brothers and sisters are persecuted because of their skin

Scared to go outside, scared to stand up; coming into contact with police makes my toes curl

Tell me, once again, how it’s not about race?

It’s odd- with all the faces and races,

She still has a hard time catching her breathe

She shivers and shakes- the calming intensity- as she goes against her nature to curl.

She wonders how many protests she can endure- if she can ever live in peace while brown.

Or if she’ll end up in pieces… skin? Why does it always come down to skin?

Unfortunately, nobody ever said this life was easy, just or fair…

Who is to say what is what when it’s love and war when even in hate, nothing is fair

She wishes for peace and posterity when the only thing that matters against time is: race.

The idea of losing hope sends signals up her skin

The seasons change in her body, and she can see the rigidness in her breathe

What makes her unique, What makes her strong- the endurance of her colour. Brown

Brown; the universal colour that connects Earth to the body- the pigment that warms her curls

There was a time when all that mattered was how people are perceived; their skin and curls versus the skin of the fair.

Peau; that connects us all like the colour brown, from the Earth, each race whether you like it or not

Connected through breath- but so much more is the end all be all; skin.

This is more than a piece of work about she… or even me,

It’s about finding peace

Liberation,

In what I see in the mirror

It’s more than just my colour that makes me unique

Liberations;

From the shackles of others opinions

That allowed me to set myself free

My colour is the one of inner peace