Diary: The Brown Man

The color brown,
That which defines,
The Brown Man.

So many,
Different shades,
Of brown,
Light brown,
Dark brown,
Tan,
And so many,
Wonderful shades,
In between,
Beige, swarthy,
Even olive,
So many beautiful tints,
From which one might choose,
Each a rather special pigmentation,
For each,
And every one,
Of God's children.

But then it must be asked,
Which of these is,
The correct coloration,
The right hue,
The "shade of choice,"
You know.... the best color,
The color chosen by those,
Who are "in the know,"
Those in charge,
Those who,
Seem to be those,
Calling the shots?

But then,
What if,
There's a problem,
Much like that,
In the fairytale,
Mirror mirror on the wall,
Who's the fairest of them all,
That just because,
Those in charge,
Happen to be,
In a position,
To call the shots,
As always,
It will be them,
Who will,
Determine,
Which skin color,
Whose skin color,
It is,
That will be chosen,
As most attractive,
And since,
It is they,
Who happen,
To be in charge,
It will,
Therefore be,
Their own skin color,
Which will,
Be chosen,
As that which is,
Most beautiful,
And therefore,
Fairest of them all!

So for the Oriental,
Yellow is,
That which is,
Most beautiful.

For the American Indian,
Such coloration is red.

For the Hispanic,
Tan is quite lovely.

And for those of,
African descent,
Black is,
That which is,
Beautiful.

But come on now,
Who cares,
And why should something like,
The color of one's skin matter to us,
Aren't we supposed to have moved,
Beyond such silliness,
I mean like,
Martin Luther King, Jr.,
Said to us,
It's not the color of one's skin,
That counts,
But rather the content of one's character,
Isn't that the way it's supposed to be?

Alas,
Perhaps not,
In fact,
The color of one's skin,
Matters a whole lot,
To a whole bunch,
Of really,
Rather important,
Folks,
Like those who,
Have been dubbed,
The WASPS,
You know who I mean,
The pale-faced folks,
The lily-white crowd,
Those colored,
Or shall we say,
Non-colored,
As the sweetness of snow,
The Europeans,
The Germans,
The Dutch,
The Norwegians,
The English,
Many who have chosen,
To live in the United States,
White people,
That's who I mean,
That's who cares!

You see,
For all we know,
This fellow,
The one,
We've been talking about,
May well have been,
Born in America,
Raised somewhere,
Just outside of,
Bemidji, Minnesota,
No doubt,
A truly handsome man,
One with blond hair and blue eyes,
Creamy white skin,
An absolute,
Norwegian hunk,
The kind of guy,
That all the white chicks in town,
Would just love,
To have had sex with!

Don't you think,
Doesn't that sound,
Just about right?

But what if it turns out,
That the guy,
We've been talking about,
Is in fact,
Just another Arab,
Something like,
One of those Middle-Eastern fellows,
You know the kind I mean,
One of those guys,
With a really funny sounding name,
Like Mohammed, Ishmael, Abdul, or Osama,
One of those fellows,
With a Middle-Eastern accent,
One of those guys,
With "the sweet smell of Egypt,"
One of those chaps,
With whom no one,
At least,
No one in their right mind,
Would want to share,
An intercontinental flight,
Leaving for Beirut, Damascus,
Tehran, Baghdad, or Kabul?

Come on now,
You know who we're talking about,
One of those fellows that looks,
Exactly like a terrorist,
The kind you could spot a mile away,
By simply looking at their,
Really short,
Curly,
Kinky,
Tousled,
Rather jet-black hair,
You know who I mean,
One of those swarthy guys,
Lads who have lived,
The entirety of their lives,
In and around,
The Cusp of Africa,
The land of the nearly-Negro,
You know to whom I refer,
The very forefathers of the one,
Who,
You and I worship,
The one who died on the cross,
For our sins,
You know who I mean,
Jesus,
The Lord Jesus Christ,
The Brown Man.

That's who I mean!