Someone once asked me if I am ashamed to be Black.
I was created in Gods image, so why would I be ashamed of that?
In actual facts, Black is neither my color or my race.
I am a human being, who happens to have a brown face.
The face of that gorgeous place, where life was once created.
Were we always this feared and hated or was that emotion incubated?
I am the color of that dirt that God used to fashion us,
but all there ever see is black and thus resort to harrassin’ us.
Black is truly a mentality, a reality of how I am viewed.
A culture containing people, whom are multi-colored, toned and hued.
History has made it my identity with a certain character attached.
Just because my melanin is greater than yours,
you feel I am the bad one out of the batch.
Saint and sinner. Good and evil; all resides in our perception.
A devil comes in many colors; birthing lies and sweet deception.
How did we conceive this trite conception?
That one’s skin can be a sin while the other one denotes themselves
as being guaranteed to win?
Strangers become family and family becomes strangers.
You better read the warning signs to learn about the dangers,
of lettin’ hatas in your circle. They can leave your soul ill.
Peckin’ at your happiness, like buzzards on some road kill.
Give you a raw deal and leave you with your ass out.
Bunny ear your pockets, so you better never pass out.
So many enemies, got a lot of enemies
and it seems that most of them happen to be kin to me.
Damn man, silly me… I thought blood was the thickest,
but when it comes to playin’ games, blood is the slickest.
Magicians; oh how they trick us, fuck us over and dick us.
But we didn’t pick our families, the dirty bastards picked us.
I tell them all to kick dust, God is all that I trust.
If it’s me against the world, I promise I will adjust, giving no more fuss.
Whatever is dealt, I’m a take it…
Plus I’ve learned that family is what you make it.
Friend or foe, who will ever know how to pick em’
A stash of butcher knives, in your back is where they stick em’.
So give me two or three that’s down for me, and I can handle that.
I finally see the light; so here, you can have your candle back…
What happens when you lock a man in a cage with rage
flowing through his blood stream?
Doves cry, but have you ever heard a thug scream?
Silohuettes of a shadowless soul.
Hearts no longer beat, they’ve become calloused and cold.
Grab a hold of some narcotics and some counterfeit love.
Them lonely nights, you don’t know what it does.
But, above all else you try lovin’ yourself.
While nobody gives a damn about you; yelling for help.
Death is no longer an illusion, the intrusion is real.
This pain will soon or later heal.
That’s a delusion you feel, you turn your spirit into steel.
While emotions deflate, God won’t let you through those gates
with all that anger and hate.
So, quickly meditate and find that balance within.
That humble pie gets mixed in with some malice and sin.
But, then again, whats the use of even fighting the abuse?
That is when your grip gets loose and you call it a truce.
Doing everything you can not to hang yourself in a noose…