Because I live in blackness,

because my mother is a huckster who dwells on the bleak, shoddy colour...

like the mettlesomeness of an anxious bird, kissing its gullible self--

because you spew on me your faded paint,

adjusting my body to accept your 'chamelion colour',

Not at all, not again, you crooks,

I have known discrimination for a long time; even when my Africa was not born,

I just graduated from humiliation--when nepotism was the God I worshipped,

like "Fofo's" taunt of criticism in 'Faceless',

like Floyd's lifeless body, gasping for a minute breath, to taste the wind in the world...

You want to sow a whoredom on me, like epitaph...

I'm a monkey-donkey, your utterances want to create a liturgy to mock my earth-skin,

just because of my skin, glowing like the tantalizing body of my childhood. You are jealous!

I want to fall back to childhood again, to paint charcoal on the compound of every door,

and question my grandmother, when I stare rightly at her skin;

I'm I black be able to win.

Should I walk in the thorns of other colours, to prove my blackness?

Don't call me by your name sake, I don't fake.

Don't get it twisted enough, within me is light.

Don't get it twisted enough, and don't paint me white. 


K. Asare-Bediako


Bio:  Albert Asare Kweku, writing as K. Asare-Bediako, is a young upcoming Ghanaian writer, teacher, coach and poet.  He chose writing as a therapy to aid him breathe away his thoughts about his unseen father from birth. When he is not writing, he is either singing or learning a song, reading and watching TV.