A Naive Coward


Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to be different...
A different ethnic, color, gender, species.
I dare not breathe a word about this to anyone,
too afraid of being judged and shamed.
Does that make me a coward?
To be afraid of telling people that I wonder,
wonder what it would be like
to have a different skin color,
To have the hate that plagues the world
directed towards me.
To speak a different language and be judged for it.
Does that make me naive?
To be longing for someone else's skin
And not knowing the scars that come with it?
You may scoff and laugh
But when I close my eyes I can see it.
My feet dancing to the drums of Africa,
My hips moving to the Spanish rhythm
Ma Coeur parle francais.
My eyes drifting over the ruins of the world,
Both old and new.
However, when I open my eyes,
I'm faced with the harshness of reality.
The reality of hatred and violence everywhere.
So I dare not breathe a word of my secret
In fear of being singled out.
Does that make me ignorant?

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