A Tapestry

My skin tells a story I don’t fully understand

It speaks of a past I don’t deserve, a place I didn’t earn, a guilt I’m told I must carry

My skin is a vehicle that takes me to places I freely can go, opening doors and lifting ceilings I do not merit.

I travel light, my skin shedding the burden of care, or concern, of fear and of fright.

Worries and anxiety roll away like warm spring rain, unable to penetrate the pink melanin that defines my status and confirms my superiority.

My skin tells a story I enjoy

A story of gifts and opportunities, possibilities, and invitations.

Of victories and conquests, of heroes and heroines. Of history and ancestry spoken with pride and centrality.

My skin tells a story, part truth and part fiction.

It fools me and tricks me with lies and half-truths

It blinds me and numbs me so the pain of those others means little, if I see them at all.

While I stand on the shoulders of the accomplishments of my ancestors

The landscape that surrounds them camouflages the bodies of those we all stand on

Simply a resource to be used and abused

My skin tells a story that must be changed

I can’t edit the past nor pretend or ignore

A tapestry of all peoples is where God has us heading

Will I be a part, can I help weave with the bobbin?

Or will I stand outside still thinking it’s the center

My skin tells a story, the end not yet written