For those who say “I’m not black” you’re right.
For calling myself black limits me.
It limits my destiny to that of a slave;
To a fate of being judged by my skin,
Trapped by every ***** stereotype

To call myself black is to deny the rest of me.
It denies the Cherokee that flows through my veins.
It denies the Irish proud and strong.
It denies the other nations that have made me.
It denies my ancestry.

So for those who say I am not black you’re right.
For what is black?
Is it the descendants of slaves?
Tired and broken. Or is it those of African descent
Or is it more modern
Is it the mother who raises children alone?
Is it the father who is never home?
Is it the children who know not where they belong?
Is it those who grow up in the projects losing hope?

If this is what black is I reject it!
I am more than black.
I am more than the slave in chain.
I am more than the Cherokee proud and free.
I am more than Irish strong and brave.
For to accept any of these is to limit me to its destiny.

I am a human made by God
Made in his image and likeness.
African, Irish and Cherokee it is what helped make me,
But they do not bind me to their destinies.
So those who say I am not black you are right;
I am more than black. I am a child of the king.
And he has written my true destiny.