A cherub or a fae (On Racism)

A cherub or a fae

With bright blue eyes 

Sticky fingers

And a mysterious color smeared around their mouth

Asked me if my mother had dipped me in chocolate

I imagined it for a moment

The solid hands of a mother

One bracing her self against a counter top

The other clutching their infants hair

As they slowly lift and dip and lift and dip

Does the cherub see

A wailing child, 

Arms flailing and 

Tiny fingers clawing at their mother’s trunk of a wrist

Or a limp doll, blankly acquiescing to their fate

I shiver violently

And i try to tell myself 

That I am making up 

The gleam in the cherubs eye

I wonder

Just how much they would like 

With their sticky fingers

To slowly peel back my skin

And empty my contents in front of them 

To see more than my colour beneath

To see all that I am

And to have no regard

As to how to put me back together again