Cinnamon and Hypocrasy

As a poet, I have wisely decided not to write about RACE. "Its been done", I said. "Not original." "Waste of precious writing time." Racism has always been a part of my life. I'm half black half white. Ive been called whack, blite, and halfbreed. <<< All of which make me laugh. As I said, racism has always been a part of my life; but it has never AFFECTED my life. Until recently. And as a poet, I have wisely decided to write about my emotion. Thus this poem:

I am not black.
Even if I swallowed the rainbow...
I would still be brown.
I am the color of cinnamon,
and the color of rain
seeped into the ground below your church.
Your church
that accepts "my kind" in the pews
but not in the home.
I am the color of your home beneath the paint and bricks.
Knots, and nails, and nicks
scar brown wood
just as slurrs, and stares, and sneers
scar brown hearts.
And I am the color you would be...
if you swallowed God's promise.
So pull your top lip up into a sneer.
Call me black.
It just gives me an excuse to write poems on
cinnamon and hypocracy.

Written in a Barnes and Noble. Seriously you should GO.
God Bless:)