AN ODE TO MY LITTLE BLACK DRESS
You stand out even among
All the colorful apparel
In my dark dingy closet.
You envelop my body
Like a sophisticated lace glove
On finely sculpted hands.
You caress every curve
Of my voluptuous physique
That complements my cocoa complexion.
You give me power and confidence
To face my dreary occasions.
You may be dark in color
But to me you are my light.
You allow me to wear you
With such selflessness.
Not like the others in my closet
That conspires to diffuse my body
With color and frill,
And make me feel like I’m wearing them.
My little black dress
You are my lady luck.
And for that, you have
A permanent place in my heart.
Melanie Bynoe
THE PARADOX
Black is the color of my skin.
Black wears the heart
of the plot against our humanity.
Black blows the tyranny
of the white squall,
that denies us all rights and privileges.
Black is the color of my skin.
Black is the color of my skin.
Black spews the venom
that inspires drudgery
to our bruised mentality.
Black bears the denunciation of a race
For fear that we will all overcome.
Black is the color of my skin.
Black is the color of my skin.
Black spurs the hatred
that’s conjured up
just by our being.
Black is the putrid deterioration
of our already brainwashed psyche.
Black is the color of my skin.
Black is the color of my skin.
Black spurns with utter disregard
the ethnicity of the rainbow.
Black breeds the biting desire
Of a whitewashed nation
to keep we sedated.
Black is the color of my skin.
Black is the color of my skin.
Black defines the blame we are handed
for breathing life’s passions.
Black puts up an impenetrable wall
That’s drilled deep in our souls
To denigrate our ability to soar.
Black is the color of my skin.
Black is the color of my skin.
Black draws out the vile thoughts
of their hardened hearts from within.
Black is the scapegoat
Used in the argument
to segregate us.
But Black is only the color of my skin.
Melanie Bynoe
Life through the eyes of a Cynic
The ebb and flow of time
in seconds, minutes, hours and days,
Where we are destined to go,
even though we may not end up there.
The passage of continuity
into a tunnel of empty promises.
A place riddled with challenges
that never seem to be redeemed.
Severed dreams and shatterd hopes
of love and endless periods of laughter.
That will to go on with the pretense
of wanting to live until you say no more.