Can I Get A Story

I am Black and American

Yet I am labeled as white

And not because I bite

Not by those of opposite skin, but of my own

Too dark to be white, but heart to white to be black to be chosen by those who were stolen

You see, I wouldn’t have been in the house, I would have been in the field

But yet because of my speech and mannerz

No man will see past there own clamor

To note that not only their story exist

But they are one of many

Instead I wait, I wait and I sit, 

I sit and I wait

Till A time come where the white man be my enemy

But rather the black man is the one holding the gun at me

Sticks and stones, sticks and stones

Break my bones, 

But words, Words never hurt me

This is the Lie my motha told me

They hurt, they pierce

More then being called Niggah

To be outcasted and demasted 

By my brothas and sistahs

But accepted by my brothers and sisters...

Will never be understood

The America blacks call an enemy 

Has been the biggest friend to me

Catching tears I cry

And not leaving me left behind

Having opportunity 

Even offering me unity

But something doesn’t feel just right

I know I don’t belong

And this is why I long

to be accepted 

Accepted by a different type being

One who understands stories

And the numerous allegories 

That make up my life

Raised in an all black family

That rivets strife 

With a daddy who wasn’t too manly 

Yet a mother

Who is bettah than two or three brothas

Raised me and made me Into the woman God destined me to be

Can I get a story?

Went to the best schools

The white schools

Always the minority 

I always listened to the rules 

Never got in trouble 

Straight A’s for day’s 

But I didn’t hide neither

Class President was my title 

My Voice was like an idol

Can I get a story?

My Daddy had a great job, 

Very educated and all, 

My Mother, the career woman

That no man could take asunder

Made a family, 

And tried to live happily,

Financially Stable, Emotionally Broken

The generational curse continues

Can I get a story?

Taught proper English

Made to wear certain clothes

Not all actions were acceptable

Hats don’t go to the side, 

Pants don’t hang low

You see, I was taught to walk a certain walk and talk a certain talk 

And to sit up a bit higher, 

Back straight, legs closed

Never looking down on those but helping them up

Can I get a story?

You see the danger of one story is someone always gets left out

There is no single status quo 

But that single story says so

So I sit and I stare at this home I call America 

But because of the story, the single story, 

I have no placement anywhere

This is the danger of a single story