By Francis Walsh
I am dreaming,
I am living,
I am fighting,
But what for,
I shout words of equality
Yet my skin is the oppressor.
My voice wants to encourage
Just to hoodwink my doubt.
My words I love with
Are conscripted to hate.
My heart that is black
Lusts to be red.
My body who aches
Just yearns to be held.
You look at me not knowing foe or friend.
I look in the mirror and don’t know where to begin.
I see hate,
I see love,
I see doubt,
I see courage,
I have to be more
But maybe I am less.
My life is rough
Or maybe it’s soft.
My mind is sharp
Or my ego is bold.
No?
Yes?
No?
Yes?
My truth is vague.
But I know it is true.