Translucent

A poem about being white, and not speaking of race.

Skin, eyes, hair--

Pale. White. Milky.

Never knew the sun could be

such an enemy to me.

No one told me it was

not normal

for the sun to hurt each time you step into the light.

I shield my eyes from the pain that brightness inflicts,

and I hide my skin from the rays.

Else there would be:

headaches, piercing my already

damaged eyes and radiating throughout

my head, and

burnt and peeling skin from which no darkness comes.

O,  you dark eyed,

haired,

and skinned one. I envy your color,

not for the sake of beauty, but for

protection.

I glow in the dark,

literally.

Can I get

a Melanin transplant?

Albino, am I, you say?

No, not quite, but close.

Close enough.

Enough to look and feel

Translucent.

The End

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