Are you shaking?

Are you shaking? Are you trembling with fear knowing that your child can run into people like me while walking home from school?

Does your blood run cold as you watch your son walk into stores, knowing that everyone isn't white like him? I know that my blood does.

All of my bones stiffen and I'm paralyzed as I walk into a building where I'm one of the only people that looks different. A building where people view me as threatening because of something like my skin, or the language that slips from my tongue when I get home. A building where people who look like you look at people like me, and associate us with gang members and drug dealers. A building where people think I don't have a stable home, purely because I don't posess delicate, porcelain skin like you.

To the shock of most people, I do have a home. My parents abuse me every chance they get, and I work like a slave. Is that what you expected from someone like me? well, sorry to disappoint, but I have a hard working father and a loving mother. I do have a home, and I go home and shower just like your child.

I go home and shower, but I can't rub off the color of my skin, despite my attempts. I can't wash my heritage down the drain, but I wish I could oh so badly, because it would mean getting the pleasure of watching the hideous creature that people around me see wash down the drain aswell. I could cleanse the palette, and maybe you wouldn't be as scared of me.

Are you shaking now?