Racial Prejudice & Identity: A Poem
My fingers glide over the keys,
Playing a melody from my soul.
The song is sincere and true,
Like a prayer uttered before an altar.
Yet, they squint their eyes and stare,
Boxing the melody into a chamber.
They ignore the art and character,
In favor of judgement and cliché.
If not music, I turned to books.
I poured my heart into words
And grew my mind in the classroom.
School was my haven.
And still, they judged and stared.
Mistaking my work for cheating
And blaming my smarts on stereotypes.
I was nothing more than the almond eyes on my face.