Secrets

There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you,

Its pain runs so deep. 

I look in the mirror, not really sure of what I see. 

The color of my skin pops out at me. 

Ears, eyes, nose, mouth-they’re all regular. 

The skin, the skin is what they all see. 

It’s different from their’s, a precursor to my dreams. 

They see me and assume, they hear me and laugh. 

Who I am is different, put that on blast. 

Don’t define me by my skin. 

Don’t wrap me in a box. 

Let’s agree to differ, my soul is wrought. 

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