Poetry Corner: American Son
I am treated differently because of the melanin in my skin, the dimensions of my nostrils, the curl of my hair, or the length of my manhood? I can feel the hate in your oblong stare sorry not sorry just stating the facts.
As life beats us to standards of those comparable only to that of death suicide is not the vibe only thing left to do is smarten up step back take a deep breath, my break is over no time to let up the struggle never let us rest up. I put the culture on my shoulders, put my best foot forward like the chosen one.
It was all fun and games the slavery which then lead to oppression deception of reparations leading to social and mental health issues like depression creating the necessity and obsession with money, flooding the ghetto with drugs which we pumped in our veins like mules used as instruments and tools manipulating the definition of thug allowing them to dominate Black.
Theirs nothing you could no longer love about me outside of prison it’s illegal to work us for dam near free and seldom ever do we still swing from trees, don’t hide your true colors we built this place then you won’t acknowledge our race treat us like an horrible distortion wish you could rid us like abortion but I was born here America I’m your son.