Ivory complexion, but she didn’t notice, At 9 years old, penning prose, man, that little poet
Knew her brothers were her brothers, couldn't really see color,
Until she saw the world, and the scope of it made her shudder.
Privilege handed out like grades on a test,
But only handed to humans with pale flesh?
Someone's right to achieve shouldn’t be stifled by greed,
Seeing systematic oppression made her fall to her knees.
Well, that girl grew up, and she started to teach,
To break the silence, break the cycle, kept her heart to the streets.
A few years later, still using art in her speak, still preaching peace, I am who I am yeah
That little poet was me.
yo, i know this is a hard topic but don't let other people define you
stay true to yourself!!