-i don’t matter
my heart hurts
my head hammers
in the light of black lives matter
and the drudgery of all lives matter
all i am trying to do
is not matter
for the endless pain that my brothers and sisters have to endure,
my grandest of ancestors,
are not what can pass under the radar,
without the scrutiny of the colour trained eyes,
they would see them a mile away,
they still see them in my eyes.
their tongues are tied and pronunciation poor,
except when it comes to pronouncing something foreign,
then they are experts in all things culture, religion, politics and war,
boy do they fucking know war.
i am heavy with the guilt of half my skin,
for the idiocy of pretending everything matters,
not brown enough for being completely lashed,
nor white enough to be given the pass of passage,
into the realm of privilege.
olive man, brown boy,
heavy name because two syllables is too hard to pronounce,
but shariah, Osama, Al Qaeda roll off their lips like they’re natives.
no, i knew inside i didn’t matter a long time ago,
i only chose not to,
later in my life.
when winter protected me from abuse,
as I paled into the sea of whiteness like them all,
but summer makes me glow like an Arabian horses coat.
they want my skin in summer,
because it makes for exotic photogenic,
they all want my skin,
to touch it,
rub their hands over it like it is a precious silk,
i become the envy of the melanin challenged.
it’s just a tan in summer,
i am safe from scrutiny,
because it makes for seasonal comfort.
look closer you colour blind fools,
it’s always brown,
it’s always olive.
it’s just golden in summer,
ironic, that my ‘badge’ is ‘gold’.
Wesam (two syllables for ‘badge of merit’)
El dahabi (four syllables for ‘the golden’)
my name means something to my mother,
to my father,
to my ancestors perhaps,
but to me, it matters not at all,
because that is how to take away,
the ammunition of those who do or don’t want you to matter.
they can’t make or unmake you.