A letter for every colour of hurt – a poem shaped from your story

I was born in a land where shadows had names,

where skin decided futures,

and silence was taught like scripture.

I grew up learning the weight of privilege

before I even knew the word for it.

But years have passed,

and I have walked far from that soil.

I have learned to listen,

to unlearn,

to sit with truths that are not mine

and still honour them.

And so I write this now —

not as a man without colour,

but as a man who refuses

to let colour be the reason

someone stays quiet

when their mind is breaking.

Pain does not choose a race.

Crisis does not check a passport.

Despair does not ask

for the shade of your skin

before it settles in your bones.

And healing —

healing belongs to everyone.

To every young Black man

who has been told to be strong,

to swallow it,

to survive it,

to never show the crack in the armour —

you deserve softness too.

You deserve safety.

You deserve a room

where your voice is not questioned

but welcomed.

Therapy is not betrayal.

Medication is not weakness.

Support is not a luxury

reserved for the privileged.

Your story matters.

Your life matters.

Your mind matters.

And if I stand beside you —

it is not to speak over you,

or for you,

or instead of you.

It is to say:

You do not have to carry this alone.

Because in the end,

we all bleed red,

we all break,

we all rise,

and we all deserve

to be held through the storm.

This is my promise:

to keep learning,

to keep listening,

to keep showing up

with humility,

with open hands,

with no agenda

but your safety

and your right to heal.

Colour should never be the lock

on the door to help.

And every one of us

deserves the key.