Minister to Make

I have much to do
Thoughts to conceive, born anew
Minister to make

New Skin

This is my new skin,
Brown,
It looks the same,
But upon closer inspection,
You will see
A glow,
A confident light,
Of something new,
Beneath,
Like a child’s smirk
Beholding a secret,
This secret is unfolding
Slowly,
Sensually,
Inch by inch, revealing
A person who wasn’t,
And was always there,
But never known,
Never seen

This skin is new,
It’s tight,
It’s the scent of a new born babe,
This is the babe
Of me
Being born,
Mentally, emotionally,
theologically,
Into the physical,
And this is just the beginning,
This labor is a process,
Unique in it’s course,
And from the womb of my mind I will grow,
To pass through and become
Who I am,
And who I am to be,
A spiritual vessel,
Clothed in
Skin.

The Plunge In

I have said “yes”
To something
I cannot completely yet fathom,
The pieces have not all come in to place,
Come in to view,
Fear of the unknown
Keeps me at an edge,
And yet warm comfort of hope and good will eases me into the bathwater of mysterious depths,
There has to be something good,
Out of something so right
I tell myself,
As I hold my breath
Preparing for the plunge in

Color Theory

Precious child,
You see my color,
But not your alabaster own,
This is the world you were born into,
Me, and the brown plastic babies in the playroom
Are the only introduction you will get to this,
Your little mouth agape
As you ask me in wonder
–A stranger really–
“Why are some people brown?”
And I’ve had a lifetime to prepare,
Tenderly, “Because we all have different skin colors.”
My skin is not an anomaly to you,
But a canvas to be admired,
You will grow and input will develop,
But may you always find beautiful too in
shades that may not be your own

Rigged

My achievement was never
Bought and paid,
Never forged,
But made,
Of blood, sweat, tears,
Of sleepless nights,
Of doubting my abilities,
Suspecting,
Deep down knowing,
This system was rigged,
Yet yearning
For the validation;
From Wellesley, Smith,
Mount Holyoke,
Brandeis, Harvard,

The validation.

And then I got it,
Again and again,
And again,
And I walk away with genuine pride,
But anger,
After what it takes,
And what of self you lose,
To face
A system
That is
and has always been
A game
for the rich.