Are you compelled to rhyme?
Do you rhyme all of the time, just to get shit off your mind?
Then, when the ink runs thin,
do you mark up your skin?
Then, do you get up on stage, simply to vent all that rage,
that's built up over years,
for which you have no more tears?
Do you look down upon me, as I sit under a tree,
with just a stick in my hand, scratching hearts in the sand?
With no pen in my hand, am I dirt to you?
Because I'm not up on stage, because I'm not filled with rage?
At least not rage you can see, though there is pain inside me - obviously.
Do you look past me in a crowd, because I'm not very loud?
because I don't hate my dad, because I'm close with my kin,
Is it because I was born with WHITE skin?
Am I not marginialized, not as oppressed as you've been?
Is that my ONLY sin?
I could LOVE you, if given the chance.
And, those hearts in the sand, I could trace them instead
in the palm of your hand...
But, I DO understand...
That's why I picked up this pen and scratched out this verse and, albeit my first,
I hope the point is clear as I hold back my tears, and let go of my fears...
You can put down your pen now.
(comment on this poem)