It's always the same story, never a true story
These stories of power and stories of glory
They fill me with rage, they fill me with fury
A culture unthreatened has room to grow,
while it beats down others, left with nowhere to go
They didn't "evolve," they were destroyed
Shoved into the crevices of history and into the void
It's the politics of denial,
A nation where those of color aren't even given a trial
I want to one day live in a country where the severity of the crime isn't determined by the color of your skin.
When with equality conquer? When will it win?
I will never forget the night you held yourself above me, a vision I never thought I'd see.
We both shook of the storm to come,
the one that would quench the thirst of the living, bringing life to all that lives.
You tenderly took what I willingly gave and that was the beginning of no end.
Carpal bones project with a sick joy in feeling small
Wrap your hand around and notice the room within the width
The hold has grown so that contact is no longer necessary to move my feet
no longer analogous to mountains
More like the wind they shift when summoned.
With the kind of malleability that can only come from being broken,
I must accept that while winds may advance, mountains change their course
I'm called to the pit to play an unfamiliar composition
with an instrument I've never before held
Wrists break under the weight of being a novice
in an orchestra of eyes all too knowing
And I can't make them listen,
Or maybe I can't make myself heard
Because there is a difference.