A sentiment has been searing through my mind, whose worldly manifestation as words I am only beginning to madly grasp at.
I am not colour-blind, nor do I desire to ever be, for the colour of my skin is my world. Race is real. Race matters. White, yellow, red, pink, brown, black. The rainbow of race is infinite. Race matters. Because history matters. Culture matters. Colonialism matters. War matters. Slavery matters. Rape matters. Because lives matter. Humanity matters.
I am not colour-blind, nor do I desire to ever be, for the colour of my skin is my world. The blood of my people, my ancestors, and my descendants. It courses red and yellow through my purple veins, illuminating the tumultuous path ahead for me, if only I am willing to be still.
We are not colour-blind, or at least I desire us not be, for the colour of our skin dictates the color of our world. White, yellow, red, pink, brown, black. The rainbow of race is infinite. Race is real.
something I am beginning to learn about family – She is the Leviathan. He is the Behemoth. Jǫrmungandr. O they hold our deepest secrets of rage, fear, disappointment and pride. And tears. Lots and lots of tears.
They are the Phoenix. To be reborn an eternity of instants, to bless this earth with joy, prosperity and endless light until Earth we share begins to let loose her final breath.
(That’s a lot to take in. I don’t know if anyone’s reading. But I will write, for this chapter is not complete,
Family is divine. Family is demonic. Family is flawed. Family is real. For whether you be white, yellow, red, pink, brown, black, all or none of those things, we are family. One clan made up of so many tribes. Too often this word has been used, but use it I will. Ohana.
And in the end, none of this matters at all in the slightest sense, for poetry only means a hoot if you let it.