You were right, Ellison.
We are Invisible.
Here am I
With my brown skin,
And I fade into the walls,
And into pitch-black skies.
I wish for that Miss America glow
That recognition, the light.
But this is why
A part of why
MLK, Jr. put up the fight.
He marched and died.
He ranted for a cause.
I suppose this Movement
Is still on the run.
The day when all men will look at me
And accept my dark face.
My “special” hair
Maybe one day
I won’t get overlooked
For the fairer sister.
Maybe my Brother
Won’t disrespect me
Call me a ho
And then treat the flower-lily
Like a beauty queen.
Maybe I can have all shades
Fighting for me,
Vying for me,
Like I am Maria, Mei Ling, or Becki
Maybe Becki - one day far away.
Maybe my black hair of wool
Will attract the bees
Like the honey of blue-eyed golden blond
And my flesh mahogany
Will garner the same respect
As that of the cream and milk.
I know it’s not good
That you can’t see me on a dark night.
And I know you’re pining to run your fingers
Through soft hair always
And you want to kiss
Thin red, pink lips
And peer into vibrantly colored eyes - natural.
Yes, Ellison told me so
Years ago.