I became Black today.

I stood out in a crowd and refused to lighten the load of prepared ancestry.

I saw my colors blend into a bold hue with moving figures caressing the mascots as they built the path that led them out.

Despite the furor of whitewashed decadence spewing into the misty display, the darkest comfort came from the dazzling blackout that provided the dots of recognition and suppression from versions of confusion and loss.

This day was meant to terrorize the layers of skin that bind arrows of enslavement with the recorded celebration of the candlelit endorsement of Technicolor that begins with a dark base.

Once evenly distributed, it begins to form a collage of hues — each with its own unique stroke of adherence to the artist’s vision of continuance.

Tomorrow is here and with it is the calming realization that regardless of the leakage that threatens to dilute the carved out surfaces that lay too long drying — but refresh with every swipe of the tip — dipped in the magnificence of versatility — the shades reform for accuracy.

The day I became black remains untouched and masterfully revised.

For tomorrow.

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