Poetry comes to mind when I want to talk about tough situations that I’m dealing with being a biracial person. Ive had a lot of identity struggles lately. With everything going on in today’s world, I had an idea to write a piece of poetry. I was thinking about how we are all human. Our differences determine how we get treated. It’s a shame that we all could be standing in the same spot, but many of us would not have the same feelings or experiences. I don’t understand how hatred can spread exponentially, but love, acceptance, respect, and dignity, are difficult to find. Below is the piece
When is art complete?
Each utensil gives meaning.
Each color a feeling.
Every line, every curve,
Ever inch, distrubed.
Distorted are others views,
Seldom they see yours.
Reminding all species
No eyes are the same,
Weathering the same storm,
But embracing from unique waves.
Some with lighter winds
And cloudy skies.
Some with thunderous,
frightening sights.
Some with nothing but sunlight.
Leaving all very suspicious.
When will art be complete?