growing up,

races were with cars and "discrimination" was a word that i had to sound out,

"des-crim-in-nay-"... i'd trail off, it had no meaning to me

but i felt it

i felt it when i'd look down at my arms and not see the same color as my family,

envying a perfect porcelain body, pushed by everyone to believe i must

i felt it when my dad wasn't mentioned, no name, no face

an unfortunate stereotype that fit me like a glove

i felt it when no one would tell me my dad was black, especially

which was something my grandfather only spoke of negatively

so of course it was a bad, bad thing to me

and it was so hard on me not knowing who i was and why i didn't fit

like the same glove that everyone around me had forced on my unknowing hand,

the same hand that innocently reached out to my grandmother's

as we walked out of my old elementary school, transferring

due to that same big, bulky word that was so hard for me to pronounce before

i would wonder why my younger self's confidence had to suffer with them

maiming, crushing, killing it

but now, presently, this word isn't so hard to say anymore

it creeps up on me like a leech, its lips cresting circles on me, looking over me

but i take my nail and seperate it from my skin that i now hold dear

i feel that word and its heaviness

and i know it will stay stalking over me like a man in the darkest corner of the alley

but i have a flashlight

and i have myself

and that's all i'd have to have