I used to think we resembled an Oreo
two black surrounding a soft white center
before I realized the negative connotations behind the term “Oreo”
too hate filled for a 7-year old to understand
Growing up I gleamed a wide variety of witty responses
answering to questions like “where did they come from?”
With “a woman.”
Duh.
I’ve become master of explaining how although we may not look alike
-I’d be lucky to be called gold
And they’re milk chocolate, cept a little more done-
We are, in fact, brothers and sister
Stares and memory are common strains in this melting pot
Of color that I call family
I’m used to being protector, and weaving the tapestry of story
To explain our rainbow
But the more they grow, the more of a positive Oreo we become
Like new life, they sprout from the ground
Muscles straining to emerge from strong black flesh
I am overpowered
Soon my role of the protector will come to a crashing halt
And my tall dark saviors will be there
To glare at every new boyfriend
And walk me through dark streets so I’m no longer alone
Spirits soar higher than I can fly
My roots seem to be remaining etched in time
But every time I walk through a street at sunset
A long black shadow stretching yards in front of me
Follows my every move