An American

If I were to question why I was born black
My face my father would probably slap
May reply with some type of apology
Like “I’m sorry I didn’t warn you being black in America would be so rough
You serve your country proudly but they still call you a nigger
And no matter how hard you work, it’ll never be enough
I know it ain’t right son
But someday things will be alright son”
I can’t seem to accept things like that
Searching for a refuge where I can live while being black
Instead of smiling in the face of my oppressor while being cursed
Because I know if I react I’ll catch a slug or two in my back
Other folks say it ain’t true
I guess ignorance is bliss
And acting like it don’t happen daily is also cool
My hate was birthed from experience
I could care less about the news
That’s fabricated and puffed up too
I should have known being an American
Doesn’t mean the same thing for me as it does for you….

The Poet Q

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4 thoughts on “An American

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