We talk of how the pen is mightier than the sword.
So why does the ink in my skin continue to be cut by the whit-hot blade of racism?
My hair is black as vanilla bean.
My skin and eyes are dark brown like old African trees.
My soul is black with the ink I use to write my story.
So my pen may be mightier than the sword,
But if I wrote in the blood of my people, they might finally be able to read the words on the page.
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this is amazing, and i'm sorry to find the truth in your words. but your not wrong, the pen is mightier than the sword