This sonnet addresses the irony of calling someone "coloured," highlighting the contrast between black skin, which remains constant, and white skin, which changes with emotional or physical states. This poem reflects on how the colour of one's skin can shift depending on circumstances, challenging the societal labels that define people by their appearance.

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I need to tell you something
Sunday is so boring, I can't take it anymore
To sit around and do nothing
Then roll on the couch, no energy to explore

I need to breathe
The same air that reminds me tomorrow's work will arrive
And on my skin, I don't want the sun
Because it just reminds me the weekend's already done

I need to touch you
But you're on your phone, not even noticing me
And r...

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Every day,

Travelling through Life,

We encounter Them,

Some, maybe true,

Yet many,

Disguised.

They have,

An ever changing mind,

Facing me,

They call me sweet,

Behind my back?

They say I'm rude,

They call me good,

Then say I'm bad,

They say you're the Best,

And then?

Nevermind.

Whatever they want,

Whoever they be,

Let them say,

W...

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under sun she soaks rays

ultra violet for an old skin,

back's bare, bronzed sad,

ancient the state we're in

young flesh moves nearby

brash rampant limbs shout:

hey! we can do this forever

our bodies know no doubt

we were just like that once

where did all our years go?

why do we lean or shuffle?

is it her, moving so slow?

the white mane annoys me

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Suffering in silence is second nature
for people wrapped in hated skin;
your life under constant siege because
you are a scourge on sight;

a blight in expensive sneakers,
a member of a caste unworthy
of empathy but if you can
somehow Dinesh D’Souza
your way through existence,
everything will be fine.

The Stanford Prison Experiment
was a glimpse of human savagery
put into a uniform;
...

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We were strangers by the pool
there was summer on your skin
I lay low, opened my whole body
in the hope that you would find me

Then taking it the distance
from the shore raised to the sky
there were many sailors scheming
on the bending of your knee

There’s a bridge in your dreams
as it recedes behind a fog
you wonder what it means...

Even naked your body was a silk gown
as you sc...

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Our skins are different colors
But we all bleed the color red
Be compassionate 

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Little Wing 1968

by Jimi Hendrix

Well she's walking through the clouds

With a circus mind that's running round

Butterflies and zebras

And moonbeams and fairy tales

That's all she ever thinks about

Riding with the wind.

When I'm sad, she comes to me

With a thousand smiles, she gives to me free

It's alright she says it's alright

Take anything you want from me,

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Chips and Dips and Cool, Cool Wine

Luscious lips
Curvy hips
Cool white wine
Chips and dips divine

A dribble here to lick away
A splash of dip has gone astray
Soft playing music may make you swoon
Gently lolling back in this vibrant room

A sash you pull to ease the waist
Pull me close so I can lick and taste
A subtle mix of fresh bathed skin
Traces of the wine that slipped within
...

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