One With You

The color of my skin,

Dark, but not enough,

To feel your pain.

Not enough,

To have suffered the oppression.

But I am one with you.

African roots,

Rise from the ground,

Mix with the soil,

Of my Native self.

The European side,

Shines from within.

Giving me a milky texture,

And cream like skin.

My mother is the moon,

While my father is the night sky.

I have seen the social divide,

My entire life,

But I am one with you.

My hair is filled with curls,

Not kinks, but they do twirl.

Long, uncoiled.

Yet they are not the waves,

Of the red sea,

Mixing with the black sea.

The blood – and the tears.

The oppression,

Caused by the fears.

All of my ancestors,

May not have been chained,

Whipped and raped.

Stripped from their families,

And sold on the stage,

But I am one with you.

I am powerful,

And I am strong.

I have risen from the earth,

Where my roots belong.

They scream out from inside of me,

Voicing my opinion to all.

Those of color,

And those who are not.

Some see my side,

Some do not agree.

I tell them to hold their tongue,

While I scream,

“I am one with you.”