We’ve all heard the story of the porter,
Who collects clay and molds them into beautiful artifacts
Some beautiful and perfect for special events.
Others just normal and commonplace.
But I’m not here to feed you this cliché.
For that story is so passé.
Hear then the story of the bread,
Who, among other bread, were tossed into an oven of hot fire,
Thinking that they will all come out the same.
But little did he know, that his side of the oven had more fire,
Causing him to brown up than the others.
All who came buying bread,
Opted for the freshly baked ones.
Soon, all his brothers were gone.
Nobody wanted him ‘cause he was different
But is it his fault?
Did he choose to land on that side of the oven?
Perhaps you’re thinking it’s the baker’s doing
Or the oven’s or the fire’s.
But the truth is, it’s nobody’s fault.
It’s nobody’s fault that you’re black.
It’s nobody’s fault that your nose is flat,
That you’re vertically challenged,
That your hair is red
And that you’re an albino.
It’s nobody’s fault that you lack brows,
That you can never grow beard
And that the sideburns you itch for never grows
Blame your genotype
For giving you such a phenotype.
Blame independent assortment
For housing you in this compartment.
Or better still, blame Gregor Mendel
For denying you a voice like Idina Menzel’s.
Yeah, blame them.
Even if you like, sue them for not giving you what you want.
But tell you what;
The bread who browned up by no fault of his got purchased at the end of the day.
Though his uniqueness didn’t make him gay,
It set him apart from the rest,
Whom others thought were the best.
Your genes brand you uniquely unique
And that no one be like you.
Hence, if you look ugly in someone’s eyes,
Just know that, they will never find the exact ugly copy of you anywhere.
And just like the bread become food for someone,
Your purpose will be served too,
Regardless of the physical expression of your DNA.
Poetry by Stephen Abeiku Johnson