Target Practice (#DearWhitePeople)

This skin makes me a target.

My precious brown with gold woven through

My warm oak;

The color of strong trees, 

The color of soft earth, 

The color of love.
 

This skin makes me a target

In the Land of the Free

On the west coast

This best coast

Immune to racism (right?)

Because here was no slavery (right?)
 

Yet my skin makes me a target — 

On a train

In my car

At a pool

In my yard

In the street

At a party

In my home

In this body,

My skin makes me a target.
 

So.

I’ll wear it boldly.

Parade it to the drones;

Show more,

Wear less,

Get darker, deeper, richer,

Until I glow blue

Like the moon.

I’ll expose the murder in your heart

With mine and my sisters' light.

You may kill me but I will eat you alive.

My skin makes me a target? Fine.