Sunday Sermon

by Jan 15, 2019Original Poems

I enjoy being black
because
my skin
can not blush
in uncomfortable situations,
like when I’m present in a pew
and the word gay
echoes
from the microphone.
It feels as if all stares
are centered
around me.
I try not to move.
Like an expression withholder,
my face becomes stone.
I clench my teeth and
Pace     each     breath
unsure

of how the rest of
the speakers words

will land.