Adaeze Ogbonna

to sleep on 

White sheets, stained Brown like my skin
Brown like dirt
and wonder as the
time passes and I buy another set of pure White sheet 

and another
and another
and another 

how my stained sins so perfectly surround me in their dirty crude graffiti
how bleach only hides the dirt, its imprint remaining imbedded
because you can’t clean a soul, I can’t clean my soul, and so I clean my sheets 

and clean
and clean
and clean 

until slowly the White fades and I’m left lying in my own dirty silhouette
suffocating in my own darkness, a dirty darkness reflecting back 

shades of burnt beige
shades of charcoal chocolate
shades of muddy snow 

so bleak even the angels weep
clogging me in my sleep
my dirty White sheets
faded Brown by the very skin that sleeps on it
skin that leaks into the sheets, the pillow

as my cheeks bleed Brown
as my lips speak white noise
as my Brown eyes stare into a reflection

of a distant longing to paint the world a different color, a new color
where my paint brush no longer 

drips shit colored teardrops onto its lonely blank canvas of
White Brown White Brown White Brown White Brown White Brown White Brown

Adaeze Ogbonna is a sophomore studying Journalism and Economics. She writes for the little black girls with big names and even bigger hair.