His Skin

His Skin.

I am a black woman who loves a black man,
One so gentle, so loving and kind.
I’ve prayed for this man, but now I fear for him as well,
Because his skin could be your target at any given time.
With my eyes I look at him, and all I can see is love.
But through your eyes, you look at him,
And all you can see is some thug.

My man does no harm, because hate doesn’t live in his heart,
You see him and you are afraid, but to me he’s God’s Finest Art.
So when he leaves me to go about his day, I am anxious & afraid...
Fearful that one day he’ll fall victim as so many others have... become your target practice or prey.

We’ve all cried for black men like mine all over, as we watch them brutalized and oppressed,
I turn off the news and quit social media so I won’t have to see who may be next.
Killing in cold blood is not ours, but it is a White mans legacy,
So I have a hard time, trying to search & find,
Why is skin like mine is always so threatening?

Will my man’s skin cost him his life next? Aren’t you tired of the cycle?
Does there need to be a war to finally get you all to see this thing how I do?
When will our lives mean something? When will you just admit you’re afraid...
Hiding behind your badges, guns and your politics, in a powerful Position of Hate.