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Colors, the girl in the hat, jealousy


My skin may not be white,

but I still bleed red

and my black blood runs thick

in these streets due to blue hands.

My blood courses through the veins of a country

that built its home on the back of my great-great-great grandfather

one lash at a time

and on the ruins of my native ancestors

who inhabited this land far before you sailed over.

Red caps say to “Make America Great” again,

whether you’re in a blue or red state

you’ll find someone who discriminates

because we are a country defined by colors–

divided by colors.

We try to pride ourselves as a rainbow,

or declare ourselves a melting pot,

but we are a land of Jim Crow and Exclusion Acts.

We are a history of colored wars in which white always wins.

Our fathers founded a country on red, white, and blue;

but it’s time we accepted that our country is brown, black, and yellow too.

The Girl in the Hat

I am the girl in the hat

sitting in the window

drinking coffee ponderously. 

You are the stranger

passing by. 

You smile at me

when we catch eyes 

then you go on your way. 

I am the girl with the curly hair

in a city I’ve never known. 

Yet here you are with a glow so warm

you’ve made it feel like home. 


Slowly it creeps in

a green haze so heavy and thick that

it sticks to every corner 

of your being

weighing down the spring leaves and 

saplings of content

green turns to black and

confidence to second guesses

what once was known

now an unanswerable question a delusion 

instilled by fear fossilized under 

the tar of doubt

yearning straining begging 

to be set free and relinquished from the 

mossy chains that squeeze out the life in 

violent pulses and explosions like a sand-filled ball 

under a hand in distress 


Green is the color of calamity.


green is color of peace

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