Untitled | Teen Ink


April 13, 2010
By Jacknel123 GOLD, Miami, Florida
Jacknel123 GOLD, Miami, Florida
11 articles 22 photos 12 comments

Favorite Quote:
"Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbour. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore.Dream. Discover"


The rims on my slave ship extents beyond that of the Atlantic ocean. The stem and roots embed themselves deep within the wounds of my ancestors. My forefathers open their arms toward me extenuating their love, trying to make the unforgivable more givable. The slender five generations is becoming more difficult to determine, the loud locomotion within the tribe kills, dwellings off the sheets between my lungs.

My darken silhouette remains, but it no longer defines me, for I am multi-racial, my complexion mirrors that of seven nations.

I'm this strange creature, but distinctly separate from the thorax, we are divided by our transverse sutures structures. My arms joint and uncate from bleeding chains, clawing, folding back upon the end of my thin membrane.

Please stop!

I'm no longer capable of heading toward this considerable distance. My remarkable sensory failed me, my thoughts function like doubtless motion.

My elongated legs now a modified tarsus, a lining through the ambulatory organs that's posterior to my third abdominal covering the lower side of my back. If only this would stop abruptly.

The hunting is irresistibly calling, creeping gradually nearer and nearer. Then came a flash of light, I found myself struck down and captured.

I'm a slave.

Two hundred years later my gene pool now comprise thirty-two shades of blackness, each being unique and specific to that individual.

Yellowish, Brownish, Reddish, Caramel, Honey pineapple, Chocolate, Dark chocolate, and Milky smooth just to name a few. These classifications that parallel the lateral margins of my blackness; its now a solid compound ejecting through the mouths, grasping.

Grasping the elastic thread spun by pervious slaves, milking each globular drops, spiraling along the lines without the unaided eyes, but still forming a radius greatly stretching.

As I walk on this thin line call society the walls around me collapse, stopping and trying to confine me within the norm; I'm still second guessing despite some significant progress.

The rims on my slave ship no longer exist, it can no longer be define. The account of this generalized condition is mistaken for the modification of the color between my thumb and finger.

You see, this prominent color now flourished. It arises from the various segments of each mind stem, wanting. My chains are broken, my rim's are only reminiscent of yesterday's past. I know this, it can be seen facilitating the running of my tear drops, the drying of my eyes and the cracking of my skin. These properties has a tendency of being too dependent, but forgive me. It was a practical need infesting my mechanical injury, prolonging the doubts cause it seem relatively unimportant at the time.

The author's comments:
Diversity, Identity, Self reflection and Self awareness

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This article has 1 comment.

CourtneyJ GOLD said...
on Dec. 3 2010 at 9:37 pm
CourtneyJ GOLD, Columbia, South Carolina
17 articles 11 photos 7 comments
WoW!  I love how you poetically communicate how as African Americans we are classified by the variation of our skin tones, but we all stem from African slaves brought across the Alantic to the Americas where they were dispersed and  were blended into various races.