I am ******.
But aren't we all?
Please, someone, tell me we all are simply ******

Where did it first begin?
I haven't the faintest idea
but I feel if I were to own my fuckedness
my life would have some colour

Many of you turn to ask
As you see me walking past
"what makes you limp the way you do?"
as though an explanation is owed to you

I know that most just worry
While others give to me their pity
but for those who imitate me when I come by
you will never know how you make me cry

I am bound by One I cannot see
and it is hard, ******,
it is hard for me

I see your begging eyes
but I will not break and
lead our souls towards demise

A mask and then goodnight
A shake and then the light
The scent of berries haunts my breath;
I prayed it all went right

A feel and then a sigh
A tap and then a cry
The colorful cast engulfed my body,
And then I thought to pry

A question left unanswered
Plagues a curious mind
And as a child, I had hopes, that
All my answers I'd soon find

But all there was to come of that
Was pity and his old friend pat,
A "close your eyes, you need to rest!"
And that is all there ever was to that

This mind, you'll find, has been long abandoned
by the calming solace of discretion

Perfection. Pure and simple. Perfection
My mind is crippled by your wants
and yet, it yearns for nothing more

I hate myself for what I seek...
and that is you, perfection
You cunning angel of deceit

And while I weep for what I can't achieve
I see you taunting me, oh my sweet perfection

I am tired of being black,
Oh—excuse me, should I lie?
Okay, well then golly gee ‘brotha’,
for this blackness I am most willing to die

Oh, ‘brotha’ how much longer must I wear this mask?
Where is Dunbar so we can?
But don’t worry, man. This world won’t be "over-wise"
Cause our skin’s got all the power to hypnotize

When they see this skin, they just gon’ shift the blame
As ign’int slaves is how we done got our fame
I am tired of being black

I am tired of being black,
Oh—excuse me, should I lie?
Okay, well then golly gee ‘brotha’,
for this blackness I am most willing to die

You see these scars?
oh—go ahead sir, please
Go ahead and trace them with your lovely finger
Straight from my hips and right on down to my knees

Oh, I got stories, baby!
History’s written all over me
But I save all them stories, darling
I save them all just for me