I am sheltered.
By a thin piece of fabric,
a snowy drape that masks
a rich Puerto Rican culture.
I wear a cloak that I can don
when others with white garments
glance with judgment in their eyes
at the members of my family
wearing dark brown overcoats.
I want to let out a shrill.
So loud, that it pierces
their ignorant minds
and forces them
to spare an ounce of respect.
But instead,
to evade the critical gazes,
I stretch out my ivory curtain
to cover those that stray from
the purest shade of white.
Maybe if these people see
that my family has kin
with a tone of chalk,
they will let them be.
How tiring it is
to live in a world
with so many colors
that must be muted
to be admired.
Little do those in the light clothes know
that underneath my ivory curtain,
I am no longer white.
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