As a cloak of denial
As a shield of armor for a dependent ego
As an unwashed hand-me-down sweater
They wear my skin color
When my mother called someone “colored”
Stating that she did not know another word to use
Unknowingly, maybe knowingly ignorant (did she care?)
She wore my skin color
When my stepfather told me that people play victim
“Everyone’s so sensitive, I can’t say anything anymore”
And when he told me again, again, again at the dinner table
He wore my skin color
When I travelled to Thailand with 15 other students
When those do-gooders sat next to orphans, comparing who had more live-in maids
The winning number was five
They wore my skin color
When my friends use “that word” in passing
When they call any brown person Indian
When they put their fingers to the edges of their eyes and pull
They are wearing my skin color
When my president refuses to condemn white supremacists
Hatred and chains again planted in the soil of the land of the free
“Mexican” spat from fat tongues that move too quickly
He is wearing my skin color
When you, you, get dressed in the morning
With your white-pink skin donned in a most unattractive outfit
Do you realize you are wearing my skin color?
And when you do, will you realize you are giving it a bad name?
Take it off
Zoë May Curran is a senior of the class of 2018. Most of her writing revolves around real-life hardships and the emotions they evoke. Zoë values representation and aspires to heal others through the power of word as both a writer and a future therapist. She will attend Montgomery County Community College in the fall, but hopes to eventually study abroad.