I'm not a terrorist

Shame I have to spell that out for you

I was six when I learned the word

From another six year old

Perhaps he was seven

But that was still too young

My peers checked

My backpack for bombs

Where I swore there were only pencils

If I got angry

I'd prove them right

So I held my tongue

They'd say I was shy

That I had to pick a side

Black or white

My tan skin looked ugly to them

They tugged my hair

It was thick but not coarse

Smooth but not thin

Black but not in the sunlight

No one asked for my name

It wasn't relevant

Monsters don't need names

The teacher pulled my dad aside

To say this was no place for me

And maybe she was right

But I didn't leave

Not for 12 more years

So my dad equipped me with weapons

Of mass construction

When they searched my belongings

They'd find markers

And crayons

And glue to shut my mouth with

I am not a terrorist

And I'm not shy

And I'm not Black

And I'm not White

I use those pencils 

To draw and to write

But you'd have preferred

That I poke out an eye with them

So you could say

I am a terrorist