Life, Poetry, Writing

Questions For People Who Don’t See Color

Congratulations on attaining this peculiar disability.

Forgive my morbidity but,

tell me, what does my skin look like sans color?

Since I am no longer black to you

I could not be grey either, since grey is a color too.

Perhaps you see me as truly colorless, a shape-shifter like water or air?

But even then, when the light bends through me

is it like looking through glass?

Am I to be just as brittle?

Can you still read the texture of my hair, the shape of my eyes and mouth?

Or is that more of the color you don’t see?

I must be a phantasm then.

No wonder you seem so scared,

All this pushback from a ghost.

What is it like to live a life so haunted?

And what do you see when you see yourself?

Can you see yourself?

Perhaps you are a ghost too.


— Janine Serioux

Life, Love, Poetry, Writing

Mutual Bias

He says he’s into black girls

But not too black.

Questioning my origin,

Interests and authenticity

With the sweetest smile.

Pale boy,

Of trembling thin lips and blue eyes

What do you want from me?

More than proximity, more than time,

I fear you’ve lost me

In a milieu of myth

And boilerplate taboo

Despite earnest pleading

What could this dappled skin do for you?

Infatuated by soft thighs?

The cautious kink of my curls?

Or is it these carefully regimented curves?

I will confess a similar curiosity;

Flesh familiar to a warm brown touch,

Tan caresses and spiced lips

I wonder what would you taste like?

Sweet and subtle as the vanilla of your creamy skin?

Tart and bright like the berries of your cheeks?

Which ripen to their peak

As I ask you

What do you want with me


snowy boy

With your keen blue eyes

And soft warm