You say that this country needs to change
That it needs to be reformed
That it needs to be equal
But how do we alter a tree who has been watered with the sweat of our mistreated laborers?
Who grows stronger through the abuse of black Americans
How do we alter a tree who’s racist roots are already thousands of years deep?

If I helped you cut this tree down
Where would his roots go?
Where would we place his corpse?
Would he lie alongside the millions who unjustly died for him?
Or would he be buried higher than his creators
Higher than those who helped him grow and nourished his sick leaves, though his fruits never dropped for them

Isn’t it ironic that those who helped the tree grow don’t receive the fruits of their labors?
The fruits ripen, with the sweat and blood of those who grew the tree
The fruits darken, dripping under the sunlight as his creators did
Yet the fruits still drop at the feet of those most porcelain,
Those who were born to enjoy the tree’s abundance