I am not white… 
Not white, but tones of pink
of gentle shades of tawny
with constellations on my skin
of greater and lesser magnitudes
of brown.

My eyes are blue
or sometimes more like grey.
It’s a mood thing
or a product of surroundings
and ecologies.

My blood is red
as bright
as anyone’s. 

My hair has lived through
sun-touched gold
and lightish, dullish brown,
and through fads of colors
And come to white and grey
and a touch of aqua 
for the fun of it!

The heart of my heart
in all the colors there are
of skin, 
of culture,
of self-declaring genders
and identities; 
of rainbows between 
the steel-grey of storms,
the hollow shadows of
the depths and darks of

Like the Sun
I strive
for wholeness of light,
to be all colors
though, like everyone,
I walk in forests’ shades,
swim in ocean’s currents,
squint against squalls
not always of my own making.

Tones change with moving clouds,
like feelings, 
impulses sparked,
by the fears engendered
by the certainties of others…

I am bowed down
by all I do not know
or understand. 

I weary of the uphill climb
from time to time.
I fret for all the folk
who also climb, 
and somehow believe
they know the only way;
by those also who cling
to clumps of grass, 
to thrusting stone,
and somehow believe
they’ve reached the top… 

Still, I want to be
the brightness
of the Sun…

I want to be, meantime,
all the colors that I am. 

I am not white. 

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