The Face of America

I am the face of America.

You see me, but you do not look.

Because in your eyes we are all the same.

I am the face of America.

             The colored girl with the curly brown hair.

The black boy who sags his pants below his waist.

I am the little girl who just took her first pregnancy test.

The troubled little black boy who just shot up his school.

I am the face of America today, and tomorrow.

Yesterday I was Trayvon Martin.

And tomorrow I will be Michael Jace.

I have this caramel coated barrier that makes it impossible to see inside.

People take one look at me, and see the face of a thousand others.

But who am I really?

Would it be better if I labeled myself as 7083?

Just another statistic.

Or would you like it better if I labeled myself as negro.

Since that’s all I am to you.

We live in a world of black, and white, and a little grey.

In your eyes, I am one of these three colors but nothing more.

When I look in the mirror and see America staring back at me.

I see more than a colored girl with curly brown hair.

I see me and who I really am.

     Not who America thinks I am or expects me to be.