My birthright
Demises me.
My skin tone
Criminalizes me.
My face,
Despised,
Is me.
A little
Hair
On my
Chinny Chin
Chin
Never hurt a
Soul.
But
The grin
On their
Soon to be
Close
Faces
Is quite grim
And
I fall.
Why is it
We all seem
To
Fall?
Victims
To the
Search.
A simple search
For the answer
Leads
To
A hand
In my handhole.
There is no
Hand
Hold.
A cavity search
They call it.
But why do they look
So
Low
When my teeth are
Up
Here?
The teeth
Aren't the
Solution,
But the problem.
If I smile,
I have
Something
To
Hide.
In reality,
I'm showing
You
My true
Hide.
The skin
I wear,
The smile
I show,
Is nothing short
Of representative
Of the peace
I bring.
I am no alien.
Birthright
Dictates my life should
Be
American
But
I find myself being told
That only a
True
Ameri-Can
Can hold these privileges
I was born into.
I was not born
With every
Privilege,
But I do have
One.
One for all
All for one,
I am
Alive,
Well,
Joyous,
Smiling,
And no search
Can take that away
From
Me.