Like our forefathers we struggle still for relevance, not because we're not relevant enough but because of our skins,
It has always been all about our skins, the jobs we never get, the eyes that stare us down as we walk down the street,
They tell you it's nothing or come up with an excuse to justify their behaviour,
We're what they've tried to figure out for years but they never seem to get their answers because they've refused to accept we're just like them,
They use our tragedies and that of our forefathers to create movies and call it entertainment,
And they sit, with their privileges as high as ever and laugh at our pain.
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The heart that cried wolf
Poetry~ This book contains several write ups like the one below ~ I use to think that whatever you put into the universe would always come back to you, just like a boomerang, but not all boomerangs return to their throwers, I've played the role of putting...
