To some, my skin bears an agenda.
It’s warning in itself for those who are too afraid to come close.
Instead, they form their opinions from afar,
thinking that a telescope provides a full picture
How does sound travel so quickly through eyes?
But the sight of my skin forms opinions before my mouth even speaks
Do you understand that you are hearing with your eyes instead of your ears?
Let alone your heart, which was made to do the listening…
I can’t control what my skin says, how it elicits skepticism,
pain or insecurity because it’s unknown.
I hate that “different” evokes fear
I don’t want my body to be so political
How can it be that my curves and my eyes,
my hair and my thighs can bear an opinion?
My body screams Feminist!
Only on the account that it’s female,
the same way my skin puffs guilt,
like second hand smoke to all in its view
Don’t you understand?
It is you who gives my body the power to control.
It’s only revealing what’s already there
Not quite brown and not quite Asian, it doesn’t know where to fit.
But its voice resonates to all who see it
I don’t ask for my body to provoke what’s hiding in your soul
My skin and gender intertwined,
Like lightening and thunder
You can’t have one without the other
But my body is done taking sides
It’s tired of being split and categorized
of being force fed words
it hasn’t chosen to speak
On account of your fear being too weak
So listen close
It wasn’t the sound of my skin that you heard in the distance
or my body that was provoking
it was the echo of resistance
the sound of not taking sides
because the only defiance I know is love