They say we’re freaks.
They say we should be kicked out.
They say that our skin,
Is too dark.
Papa said,
“Ignore them.”
But I didn’t listen.
For I was just a child.
The children at my school would chant,
“Nigro,
Nigro,
Nigro!”.
People like me?
What does that mean?
What’s wrong,
with people like me?
I thought that maybe if I wished hard enough,
I could change the color of my skin.
So I could be like the adults we pass on the streets,
Who have treated us wrong for centuries and centuries.
Now that I’m older, I realize those people’s mistakes.
Our skin is different, so what?
We’re still people.
And we shouldn’t be ashamed for that.
People like me start filling the streets.
Their dark skin huddled close together in large groups,
Their eyes filled with rage and determination.
Screaming at the top of their lungs for equal rights.
I believe my Papa now.
And I hope more people stand up,
For people,
Like Us.