Hands
I don't understand.
Why are we different?
We all can cry,
we all can smile.
I look at my hands.
Pale, smooth and a fine color of peach.
I look at his hands.
His hands are darker than mine.
His are a soft shade of brown.
Still smooth, still hands.
Too bad the world isn't color blind.
Then we would all be the same.
And there would be no racism.
And the word "different" wouldn't be used
to describe people.
We would look the same, talk the same,
be the same.
I don't understand.
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