Look at what melanin does
Melanin has a memory
The darker the skin, the higher it raises when it’s wounded.
It raises up to be closer to the sun in hopes for healing
In hopes for a visual reminder
Melanin has a story to tell
My melanin remembers, even though it’s lightened by some sperm along the way.
Sometimes people don’t look at me
They don’t see me
They don’t recognize me as anything but melanin and sometimes that has me going in.
I have eyes, and you fear their power?
Look at me and see me
Recognize the melanin in my skin has a memory
See that even though I can put my jeans in the wash
I cannot wash away my genes’ memory of trauma
The mold was hit and dented and now I walk with a limp and scream when I could breathe and cry when I could be calm
But the jeans my melanin has are not meant to be washed.
They remember trauma as constant as breath as common as sleeping as intertwined as the sun and the moon
Pain which had us speaking in tongues screaming out to the heavens for this to halt.
They forget we are people made from love.
We are people who live in the warmth
Everything grows in the jungle because it is warm and wet
Like my bosom and what lies between my lips
I speak english, some speak spanish, some speak portugese, some speak french, some fly on the wings of pigeons speaking a language of their own creation.
But the language the europeans taught us to abandon our voices for? That language, that shit they gave us was violence
I can’t wash it away
Less than 200 years ago was slavery abolished.
We’re less than 200 years ago from this man’s suffering being normal.
of course I’m angry
this man could have easily been the father of my grandfather.
We’re so far away but my melanin remembers
It has a story to tell