The moment I realized
That my skin wasn't black
Was the moment
Things began to make sense.
The moment I realized
My skin color
Automatically made me
A better person than
My bi-racial best friend,
Was the moment
I couldn't stand being
In the presence of
My other "friends," –
The friends that only wanted
To play with someone like them;
Someone with a skin tone
That reflected the sun
And its unforgiving rays
Of clarity –
And not with someone
Whose skin shown the same hue
As the chocolate bar
He purchased
At the local grocer.
"It's fine,"
My friend said to me,
Flicking his hand
Like the beasts' racial comments
Were only pesky flies
That flew inevitably
Into the everyday life
Of his.
"It happens."
"It shouldn't,"
I replied,
My childlike voice growing
In decibels as the useless rage
Built inside my tiny body.
"But it does."
And that was that.
The moment I realized
My best friend suffered
Different cruelties
The world had to give,
Was the moment I realized
That I would never forgive
Society for hurting him
In a way that
I would never
Understand.