Just here on the verge of tears.
Wondering when it'll go away.
If it'll ever go away.
I don't need it.
I want it.
Will I survive?
Probably.
Do I want to?
That's a different story.

he does not want you anymore
and he no longer thinks that you are beautiful

he chose alcohol and told me to go home
he slammed my body and told me to go home with my broken bones
he threw me out onto the mat and told me to go home
his eyes were bloodshot red and he had saliva dripping from his lips
yet he told me to go home as i begged and pleaded at the door
love was not strong enough when it is faced with a drug
he went to bed with his drug and told me to go home

i saw a girl who was hurting
he saw a girl who was crazy

my mind is weary
because my skin is black
the fighting never ends
we are murdered by enemies
who pledge to be our friends

my soul is tired
because my skin is black
they say move on from the past
as if our great grandparents
weren't working their plantation
disregarding the fact that slaves
have built this nation

my eyes are burning
because my skin is black
crying rivers of tears that lead to
oceans we never see
because American paradise wasn't built
for people who look like me

my heart is hurting
because my skin is black
will it be my brother next?
could it be my father too?
without the love of my life
i have nothing
and what if they take him too?

my skin is on fire
because it is black
a pigment i was born with
that i cannot give back
the darker we are
the more we are judged
the more we are killed
the less we are loved
so we turn to each other
to lift each other up
and now you call us racist
when before you didn't care
you only see a possibility of unity
and i think you just might be scared
we are now aware of our power
that you try to retract
did you forget who your president is?
hmm.. imagine that

we are all weary
we are all tired
we are all hurting
i refuse to tell my son he is less worthy
i refuse to see my daughter cry
and ask why we have to die

because our skin is black

all we have ever wanted was to be treated as EQUALS, as HUMANS, as PEOPLE
America you owe us that!

wanting death is a poison
it takes over selfishly
but all of us in here want it
all of us in here are selfish
pinning for the first dance with the devil
for the first sip of poison

the woman in the bed next to me hears voices
the cackling of the clowns in her face
she tries to sleep and in her dreams she's running towards death

the russian woman in the 34A is screaming for someone to help her
but help her from what?
no one knows
she is pulling her maine of hair out
which was once so pretty when she was a young lady

the boy in the bathroom is trying to throw up lunch like purging will make him more of a person
now he asks me for a breath mint pretending like it's our secret
the next day he took a bite of the poisons apple hoping prince charming will find him one day

I kept begging to turn back time because i didn't belong here
but when I found a girl who's scars matched mine we told stories of the devil's diseased trees
and how laughter become painful noise

we talked of how the wind began to hurt and whisper to us
it would tell us that the only way to escape was to pick the leaves off the trees in the forest of hell

she made me realize death wasn't what i was running from
she made me realize that hell may be at my heels but it doesn't mean that i have to keep running
she made me realize that if i want to i can turn around and look the devil in the eyes and say
you won't be the end of me

The leaves rustling together, dancing in the wind.
The roots entangling, grabbing onto the earth.
The branches rubbing, staying up against gravity.
The trees dance is a unique one.
Neither slow or fast.
Neither graceful or clumsy.
But it is certainly one that must be witnessed.