melanin, an ode to the one i once loved.
honey dripped from your
large lips the first time you
said you loved me, but you
hated society, that you hated
that it’s 2019 and we still
can’t be together, because my
family hasn’t lost their ability
to see color, that your deep
brown skin would taint my
terracota kissed body like
spilled ink on a painting.
you walk with a price on
your head, our hands still
entertwined as you dodge
bullets and avoid police because
you still want to come home
to me and.
the news scares me,
but it’s not the reason
i left.
melanin does not equate to love,
especially love lost and.
i left because i can bare my pain,
hear the slurs and jokes people
still make about the people that
made me, my history, my skin,
my culture. i can hear the smashing
of terracotta warriors and the
snapping of jade bracelets and
necklaces in china town. i can
hear the cries that still echo
the streets of hue and saigon.
i can still hear it. i’ve made music
from it in the same way that
every other vietnamese has.
but bullets sound too much
like your heartbeat, a tug in
my chest every time i see you
cry over the skin i fell in love
with. i promised you i would
be strong. strong enough to help
you, but i’m never going to be
strong enough to hold you,
to wear your pain.