Prisoner to you

Prison of perception:

Look at my skin…and think about what the future holds for me, a statistic of why America needs more police, or a sperm donner, imprisoned for his crimes, unable to see the day that his son will finally rise

Listen to my voice…and try to imagine my past. A 9 year old kid that hears the birds of the night, their chirping soon followed by a black mother’s cries, or a mistake, another burden of a 15 year old girl, trying to spare her family the fate of an empty plate

Step into my shoes…and tell me when your feet start to hurt. Is it from all the marching,Black on Black crime is fine but a dead gorilla makes everyone start rioting,or your walk to American History,to learn how your ancestors being raped is a part of your history.

We are judgmental creatures,i guess it’s human nature to be.Im tired of praying every single night that I make it home safely,that if a cop does pin me because he thinks I’ll behave violently ,he won’t ignore me when I screaming for help because I can’t breath

We may walk free,but because of our judgmental mentality,we are still enslaved mentally.But I feel something strong that moves me inside,but it sure ain’t fear moving down my spine

I feel these schackles of prejudice breaking, rusty like those of the slaves buried beneath the sea. I have outgrown these handcuffs of superstitions, knowing that I can open their lock without selling a single key and that anyone, especially black people, can thrive in this society.

I used to believe my skin color only guaranteed a life locked away somewhere in a penitentiary,but if my people slept in temples before Christ was conceived,regardless of your judgement of me,i know it’s in my genetics to succeed. So when you look at me now, what do you see? A person who’s life is defined by the judgement you may have of me,or just a regular human being who ain’t afraid to stand in front of you all and say proudly,”only God can judge me?”

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