I don't recognize the face in the mirror
This face I see isn't mine
Perhaps it's the makeup I wear
The red lips, painted face, and gorgeous exaggerated eyes
Or maybe it the choices I've made that makes this girl unrecognizable
All the times I've chose right over left
Or adverted my gaze.
When I chose not to see what was right in front of me
Maybe the face staring back no longer belongs to me
This girl with the pale skin and beautiful soul seeing eyes isn't who I am
It isn't that my reflection is lying to me but simply everything I have done has made me lose sight of who I was.
How could it be that my vision became so warped that I no longer see the innocence?
That face in the mirror no longer belongs to me
That isn't my face
That isn't me
That is my innocence

The jagged rocks flow through the air like daggers laced with the most toxic of poisons. Adverted eyes avoid the abyss of spewing lava for fear of being burned. Those in the path of destruction, they are the unluckiest of victims. Monosyllabic stones of hopelessness find their way to the scarred skin, bloodying the bloodied, breaking the broken. The volcanoes are worthy of repugnant titles, sharp like their tongues or decaying like their souls. The victims should run, should cry, should lash out against the lava, protect themselves. But everyone says that if you choose to live at the bottom of a volcanic body, you are already dead. The lava will only harden you, despite attempts to remain cool in your passivity. Lava burns, and no amount of composure or preparation can protect you from the overwhelming presence of hatred and intolerance; the hating fire fueled only by oxygen.

I grew up in the putrid decay of trauma
Trying to reconstruct the systems drama
Playing a part of victimized slaughter.
Of every word of hope I had, every laugh
Every stab, every push in the back every part of love I lack
Every piece of hate I contract. Man I'm losing track.
Keeping every Jenga piece in the stack.
And I hate the negativity I attract.
Thats why I’m trying something new.
Turning my progression into something true. Every copy, Every piece, Everything I do
Constructed into a new brand of truth
And as time is passing. Voices are still asking. Why is this white kid up here rapping.
And I ‘ll tell you why this is my passion. I hate the thought of our trauma crashing.
Making the better of us while the devil is laughing. And in a corrupt world where body’s are stacking and hurt is open traffic. And the only frequency we receive is static.  And the fact that my mom was an attic only adds comfort to my panic. This system is nerving ending. And the shock is sending a mixed wave of pending impulses. And when the action is constructed, Their only thoughts are the past your stuffed with. Gagged and fed in. The hate of what you did that you’re continuously stuck with. And no matter your current sins. You are still given the opportunity to be forgiven.
Points are misconstrued. Any question, Every answer. Anything you choose.
Lets pick one to re-construe.
Our systems are filled with hate. Abuse to recreate. Siblings are disconnected.
And our worlds are fed with the continuous negativity within our media that our minds our sent with.
Peace within the races is drifted apart. And theres no light in the dark. Only bodies of morals that were taken from the start. Blood fashioned into a negative art. There’s racial divide right where the lines are. And the distance of peace is mile like far. Crimes committed every hour by the powered while someone innocent is arrested every hour. And when the diverted posture of hate is playing a part to keep our mouths sour. Eyes are closed. Centuries of neglect rose. And hatred is like fire ready to emerge from the stove. And our ideas of morals are completely distorted. Warped and contorted. Flooded with the pattern of systematic blood. Ideas of change are purposely adverted. Not enough pineal glands Removed  from the skin when the knife is inserted. The system designed to keep us devoured. Within the difference of civil slavery and power. You want something to pray about. What about the neglect of the deaths of the ones who are left. And yet we are still having *** with the devil, who is the one to meddle with our lively hood.  And yet those things aren’t understood. The first thing to truth being unearthed is.  
The possibility of the word ‘could’. And then change can finally give birth.