I recall momma telling me that
at birth, i was almost rejected
because of the paleness of
my skin
little did she know, I was Gods
canvas, soon to be a masterpiece
worth more than the Mona Lisa
or a pack of dogs at a table playing
poker
i was born flesh of a white male
hair like that of an Indian and when
i learned that my great, great grandmother
was a squaw, i found joy in being a part
of it
then i learned the struggles of my color
i had no true understanding of what
being a black child meant cause i
had only been a sketching an outline
of an image waiting to be filled in
for what God and life wanted me
to be
with the stroke of His artistic hands
i began to develop an identity but
without an understanding heart
i was left on display,incomplete, feeling
like a cheap copy of the original
constantly being criticized for the lack
of volume or the volume of
for years my sibling and i poured bleach
into our baths to maintain our beautiful
honey cream tint, but soon after the water
dried, i was given a different coat, over the
years a shade darker than the ones before
i began to realize that I've become
victimized by the anti-teaching that dark
was not good but learned to love
this masterpiece of blackness
black helped me to write this poem
stand proud and show'em instead of
raising my fists to throw'em
I plant seeds into minds, then i
grow them
instead of being judged by the
complexion of my skin, conclude your
ideas by the contents within
the opposition to the negro education
was at first bitter, showed itself in
ashes insult and blood, history says
an educated negro was a dangerous negro
it still remains but....
i call you not negro.... yet
Brothers and Sisters, created
masterpieces out of ordinary
into extra-ordinary
A Masterpiece