White walls,
White people,
White flours,
Even white lunch trays,
I am like a dead fly in a bowl of milk,
A speck of dirt on white tile,
A single black person in a sea of white,
I am told to go hide in shadowy corners,
Because I will blend right in,
And sometimes I want to,
I just want it to stop,
I want to stop being treated like a slave,
Because that is all I am to them,
But there is no difference between you and me,
I am as strong as you,
I am as smart as you,
And I am certainly as much of a human being as you are,
And yet,
I'm still not good enough,
I don't know what to do,
Because you are making things tough,
And that is why I hate those white walls,
Those white people,
Those white flours,
And those damn white lunch trays.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem