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which in my youth had led me to believe
That I could be whatever I wanted to be.
Although the faces that were presented as motivation
only reflected pale ghostly figures.
No one Black, like me.
No one Black, like me.
I grew and conceded,
As I learned that the world
I once thought was so free and accepting
I once thought was so free and accepting
was cruel, and demanding a price too rich for my blood
How can I compete in a world where my skin is my greatest enemy?
Haunting and taunting me.
Haunting and taunting me.
Reminding me of all the things society won't let me be.
Hell, they won't even let me breathe.
Waiting on something, patience and worshiping have yet to achieve
How does anyone survive being Black?
As me.
