Not a Crayon - Not a Place

I slip out of my shredded skin
in seek of a colorless roof.
Neither black nor white
I hate darkness and despise light.
No blood-shades run in my veins,
I'm more than red and mixed paint
I am not the scarf on my head -
the deceiving face of a saint.

Not the Cross on my chest
or the years I disregarded church.
I'm more than your toxic words;
the labels, the bullying and hate.
I'm that tint of pure water and rain
The Holy Spirit that has no figure or shape.

Sick of sad songs on war and love,
peace poems that bruise my hips
...everyone's burdening drama
that breaks my heart, cracks my ribs...

I refuse to be a convict of my name
a slave of my skin - prisoner where
my grandparents have a grave.
I am not a crayon, not a place.
Stop choosing my color
and hate-bordering my space..