Is melanin a metal?
Hard-edged and resistant to manipulation?
If so, then black bodies bent
in brutal slavery would break.
Is it malleable, like pure gold?
If so than blackness would be a precious thing,
shaped and molded into icons of love and hope.
I wonder sometimes if this shell has hardened.
Has it grown cold and still
to stand against the onslaught of hate and hurtful things?
And, once hardened,
Is it as brittle as stone? Am I?
Hammers bang against the shades of my sensibilities-
Bang against the surface and the structure of my being.
In my hopeful moments they sculpt a masterpiece in
brown and black sequence.
In my despair, they break me into shadows
that shiver outside the light of the sun.
In any case, if you prick me I bleed,
Hurt me, and I groan.
I may be Black, but I am
after all,
Not made of stone.
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