Sandra's white crayon next to his face.
He was looking at his own reflection in his mirror.
"You...You're a black man"
Her words echoed.
"I'm a black man?" Malik asked himself.
Blank stare at his ugly patterned wall.
little white children outside his window, begin to call.
He slowly lays down the crayon and look outside to see blonde headed children with skin white as snow.
They laughed as they played.
Do I really belong? He asked himself
His father is a white man.
His mother...He didn't know.
"My father told me, my real mother was white. He dared not to kiss a person with skin darker than his own"
He mumbled to himself, still looking at the children from his window.
He guessed his real mother sits downstairs with golden curls, pale skin, red lipstick, folding laundry, humming hymns.
If their skin is white
How is he brown?
Did the sun kiss his skin way too long?
