Blog / Poems

I am invisible

I hate to be invisible

I am invisible

Do you think I am invisible?

I think you think I am invisible

You can’t see me

You can’t see Haley

I am a girl

I am biracial and half white

Is it the white in me you don’t like?

Is it my black that’s invisible to you?

I have brown hair and brown eyes

My lips are red

My shirt is yellow

But you don’t see me because I am invisible

Or are you blind?

 

I believe that teaching children to love themselves (and others) is one of the greatest gifts that you can give! I also believe that children should learn to celebrate differences in the home and that their teachers and friends can, and should, be a wonderful source of influence and affirmation. My heart is that my web site and this blog can be tools that ALL people can use to help decrease the gap of hatred and misunderstanding and increase the bond of unity and understanding! Below is a poem from the book The Crayon Box that Talked that I have read to hundreds of preschoolers. It's a great book with a simple message, "Together we are better"!

The Crayon Box That Talked

by Shane DeRolf

While walking in a toy store, The day before today, I overheard a crayon box, With many things to say...

‘I don’t like Red!’ said Yellow. And Green said, ‘Nor do I! And no one here likes Orange, But no one knows just why.’

‘We are a box of crayons That doesn’t get along.’ Said Blue to all the others, ‘Something here is wrong!’

Well, I bought that box of crayons, And took it home with me, And laid out all the colors, So the crayons could all see.

They watched me as I colored With Red and Blue and Green, And Black and White and Orange, And every color in between...

They watched as Green became the grass, And Blue became the sky, The Yellow sun was shining bright, On White clouds drifting by,

Colors changing as they touched, Becoming something new. They watched me as I colored. They watched till I was through.

And when I’d finally finished, I began to walk away. And as I did, the crayon box Had something more to say...

‘I do like Red!’ said Yellow. And Green said, ‘So do I!

And, Blue, you were terrific, So high up in the sky!’

‘We are a box of crayons, Each one of us unique. But when we get together, The picture is complete.’

*TM & copyrighted, 1996, 1997, 2001 Shane DeRolf.

In my life as a: "Mixed-Race", "Half-Caste", "Biracial", "Heterogeneous", "Half-breed", "Multi-cultural", "Creole", "Mulatto", "Mongrel", "Hybrid", "Inter-racial", "None Of The Above" "Other" I've been told: "You're Too-Light", "You're Not Light Enough", "You're Too-Dark", "You're Not Dark Enough", "You're Too-White", "You're Not White Enough", "You're Too-Black", "You're Not Black Enough", "You Have An Identity Crisis", "You're Not One Of Us, You're One Of Them", "You're Not One Of Them, You're One Of Us", "You Don't Know Who You Are", "You're Not White, You Must Be Black", "You're Not Black, You Must Be White", "You're Not Really White", "You're Not Really Black", "You're Both Black And White", "You're Neither Black Or White" "You're Nothing Really". I've been: Accepted By Black And By White, Rejected By White And By Black, Integrated With Black And With White, Alienated From White And From Black, Praised And Complemented By Black And By White, Insulted And Offended By White And By Black, Loved By Black And By White, Hated By White And By Black, Paid Attention By Black And By White, Ignored By White And By Black, Pleased By Black And By White, Angered By White And BY Black, Enlightened By Black And By White, Frustrated By White And By Black, Fascinated By Black And By White, Bored By White And By Black, Helped By White And By Black, Hindered By Black And By White, I've: Lived With White And With Black, Lived Apart From Black And From White, Agreed With White And With Black, Argued With Black And With White, Laughed With White And With Black, Cryed With Black And With White, Wanted To Assimilate With White And With Black, Wanted To Segregate From Black And From White, Never Seen Anyone Who's The Color Of Coal, Never Seen Anyone Who's The Color Of Snow. ~sabu

Diversity

I believe, that diversity is a part of the natural order of things -as natural as the trillion shapes and shades of the flowers of spring or the leaves of autumn. I believe, that diversity brings new solutions to an ever-changing environment, and that sameness is not only uninteresting but limiting. To deny diversity is to deny life. With all its richness and manifold opportunities. Thus I affirm my citizenship in a world of diversity, and with it the responsibility to... Be tolerant. Live and let live. Understand that those who cause no harm should not be feared, ridiculed, or harmed - even if they are different. Look for the best in others. Be just in my dealings, with poor and rich, weak and strong, And whenever possible to defend the young, the old, the frail, the defenseless. Be kind, remembering how fragile the human spirit is. Live the examined life, subjecting my motives and actions to the scrutiny of mind and heart so to rise above prejudice and hatred. Care. - Gene Griessman

---

"Are you greater than the sun that shines on everyone? Black, Brown, Yellow, Red and White the sun does not discriminate". Sara Ting © (i saw this addition to Sara Ting's poem that I thought was also good)  "Does the rain not wet your hair the same? Muslim, Christian, Hindu, Buddhist or Jew, the skies have washed your ancestors without prejudice. Can you stop the winds better than any other? Russian, Saudi, Spaniard, Vietnamese, and Nigerian, The winds show no bias towards your borders. Will you extend your time in this physical form? Tall, Short, Bulky, Skinny, Blind and Deaf, the hands of time wait for no human." BT Slader ©

This will be my last poem from Arnold Adoff's book "All the Colors of the Race" that I featured a couple of days ago. There are many more great poems in the book--buy it or check it out from your local library! We are talking about by Arnold Adoff We are talking about                            the ones who pick        their friends                            because of how    black      they act                                                                              or                            because of how    white     they can                                                                              be. Sometimes blackness seems too black for me,                     and whiteness is too     sickly pale;                     and I wish every                                         one were golden from                                                                     the                                                                    sun.                          Golden from the                                                    inside                                                 out.

Here's another great poem from Arnold Adoff that was in the book All the Colors of the Race that I featured yesterday. On my applications by Arnold Adoff On my applications   I can                                put: this girl:           a black,              white, Christian, Jewish,             young             woman:                  student,                  musician, singer, dancer, runner    in the middle distance races,                  is willing to help you                  if you take her as she                                              is.

Here is a tiny treasure that I found in the library this summer. A book of poems, All the Colors of the Race, written by Arnold Adoff. Based on his own interracial family, Adoff writes from the perspective of his biracial (black/white) daughter, which I find very interesting. At first I was a bit thrown off because I generally prefer poetry to rhyme, however, his style is considered "free verse" poetry. The more I read (and re-read) them, the more I fall in love with them! I hope you do too. The lady said by Arnold Adoff The lady said:       what are you going to                                                  be                                 when you grow                                 all the way up? And I said:      a woman. And she said.     No. I mean what are                                           you                                           now? And I said:   a girl. And she said:   No. I mean what do you call                                         yourself? And I said:   Honey. Baby. Sweet                                        potato                                        pie                                        face me. If she finds it hard,                      I find it easy      to make it hard for her.

The Cold Within by James Patrick Kinney Six humans trapped by happenstance in black and bitter cold Each possessed a stick of wood, Or so the story's told. Their dying fire in need of logs, the first woman held hers back For on the faces around the fire She noticed one was black. The next man looking 'cross the way Saw one not of his church And couldn't bring himself to give The fire his stick of birch. The third one sat in tattered clothes He gave his coat a hitch, Why should his log be put to use To warm the idle rich? The rich man just sat back and thought Of the wealth he had in store, And how to keep what he had earned From the lazy, shiftless poor. The black man's face bespoke revenge As the fire passed from his sight, For all he saw in his stick of wood Was a chance to spite the white. And the last man of this forlorn group Did naught except for gain, Giving only to those who gave Was how he played the game. The logs held tight in death's stilled hands Was proof of human sin, They didn't die from the cold without, They died from the cold within.