a poem of clarity.
Brown is okay with me.
Do you view it the way I see?
It is the mahogany of the grandest trees.
It is the coffee and tea which raise you from your sleep.
It is the caramel of the sugar you burn.
It is the desert sand from which your gods are born.
It is the bones of houses, new and old.
It is the wool and fur, warming you in the cold.
It is the hidden gems beneath the earth.
It is the combination of color and warmth from your hearth.
It is the wheat through which your fingers pass.
It is the pile of leaves to jump into at last.
So why can it not be the color of my skin?
Of my parents, my ancestors, my friends, and my kin?
My bark, my shell, my bones, my hair,
Must count for some amongst the Fair.
For I have so many hidden gems beneath.
I am a fighting sword waiting in its sheath.
I am above and below and around and through,
Why can it not be okay with you?