Race

I can’t justify my self to you, so I will try to explain.

No, this is not an excuse, for I was not there on that day long ago through fields and over mountains and the plain.

Looking through the keyhole, or history. I can barely make out the one dominating, but I know his skin.

I can’t resist your battery of words, yet he is not my kin.

My great, great, great grandpa was a bondservant with a master.

That man wished for work and for labor to be done faster.

Don’t think that I got all this handed to me, for I had to work and scrape just like you see.

I have learned to hate my skin in all its pasty white and red.

You still hate me no matter what I have said.

Well to tell the truth I hate me, too.

That’s what’s so strange, because in my genetics I am an African just like you.