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.: Pens & Knives - My Journal :.
OC:07 - Might my Poetry become Rap?
Throw me away, take me out,
tell me what I'm all about.
Ebony purple or brown,
call me Black, though, I won't frown.
I'm the s**t, made from red clay,
drink fire-water all day.
Tell me yellow tone is sick,
don't claim that my brain's a brick.
Must be without breath, pale skin,
tossed myself right in the bin.
Don't thump the bible excuse,
the meek took all the abuse.
The whole world, conquered before,
by all of us; read the lore.
Native Amerikan mix:
Asians and Blacks got their picks:
migration integration,
you made many a Nation.
We're all made from the same stuff
so our self-hate ain't enough
until kindness is given
for love, healing is striven.
Hui Kālā, cut hate's vine,
break chains of blame, be divine!

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