by Ariana Campbell
My skin may be brown…but I am black
Black like the boy abusing [k2] crack
Black like the hearts that choked him dead
Black like the shot that turned him red
Black like the mother filled with sorrow,
for her beautiful son will see no tomorrow
Black like the clothes she wore that day
Black like the sky after its solemn grey
Black like the beard that raped her that night
Black like the gun she used to fight…
to fight the urge to also turn red
after seeing that color once more in a head
My skin may be brown…but I am part red
Red like the blood the police now shed
Red like Ken Bone’s trending sweater
for White America can do no better
than concern themselves with a single shirt
while the rest of us get treated like dirt
Because of this red, because of this black
I now know that I may never look back
Back to the days when I was white
white like you with no fear or no plight
My skin may be brown…but I was once white
I cannot get into detail, as I have lost this light
But this is the premise of my tale
I am one of the many locked in black jail
There is no key to free us from here
So listen very carefully my dear
We are the ashes and asses of Earth
The ones severely scorched from birth
As dark as our skin and hair may be
Fear not, for what you do not see
is the hate and anger within my eye
as I watch my greatest gift die
This is the lullaby to sing to your son
although his life is now well and done
For this is the only story you may tell
so long as you inhabit this earthy hell
…ashes, asses—we all fall down
