I'm diverse
but they can't tell the difference between hues of brown
or yellow
or ebony
but they will find the many different shades of pink
until no color appears at all
it's oddly wild
in a muddy field
they still try to dig for small grains of the whitest rice
when they forgot who picked it
I'm diverse
but when will it really matter
about beautiful cultures
but it only matters when
they pull out a swatch of colors
and match with forcible horrors
don't they forget?
We're all apart of a muddy monochrome
so why do the smallest of chromosomes
determine our fate in the world?
We're diverse in each other
but listen my dear
"We all still bleed the same exact color"
YOU ARE READING
Elevation
PoetryA series of curious & personal poems about questions, doubts, and loveliness.