Beauty in Our Scars


I am but one voice in a world full of many.
I am but one but around me so many.
My skin, though it makes me proud, also makes me worry.
Why are we judged in such a hurry?

Bright red targets are placed upon me, while eyes
constantly follow me.
People don't expect much from me, but I guarantee that
I'm not who you really see.
Melanin is my superpower, but many don't agree,
But I am from a long, long line of royalty.
Head held high like Queen Nandi,
Despite all the hatred and oppression surrounding me.

Brother and sister permanently locked in dark rooms,
like caged animals.
With no family, no windows, barely even a bathroom.
A cold cave-like hollow cube that is starting to become
the norm.
Blamed for years of being human, but only in the
subhuman form.
Chipping paint, counting the days.
Cages and metal bars.
Is this really the ending to over two hundred years of
scars?

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