Her Hands

She looked down at her hands

Her dark, warm skin

She did not understand 

Why must this,

Her outside appearance, 

Something she could not control?

Bring so much hate

To the world

She strolled down the street,

Downcast and dejected

Lost in a sea

Of hurt. 

And pain.

But

...

Then

She stopped,

And took a good look

At the world around her

Why must she agree

To live in a place of

Hatred?

Why must she allow

The disdainful looks,

The muttered comments

To continue on?

She would take what she felt

The hurt, and

Oh, so much pain

And turn it into anger.

She took that anger

And used it as fuel

To start the fire of 

Resistance inside. 

She looked down at her hands, 

Those same hands that,

Just before, 

Had caused her grief

And she would use them

To make a difference.