By Nathaniel Wilkerson III

I believe
In the things
That believe in me
Things I’m afraid to see
Tornadoes, death, love

I guess,
Or all the above

From the meat
We eat, that
Produces cancer
To all Gods
Who provide us
With our own answers

Am I racist?
No I’m not.
But I am always skeptical
Of bees

One may float upon a flower
Have no intentions on using its stinger
However it has one,
Therefore it’s always a threat
Even when it means me no harm

Do I prefer the sun?
My alarm

Well that depends
Do I have arms?

What opens first
My ears
Or my eyes
Maybe neither

Would I rather be
Rich or poor
With an abundance of wealth
Do I really need more

What is the true price
Of a dollar
Is it worth being afraid
To identify as Black
While I claim
A white or blue

A rich mans success
Is a poor mans struggle
A poor mans struggle
Is a rich mans hustle

My perspective,
On life
Makes the left and right sides of my brain
A lil bit tougher

A large portion
Of the world
Is color blind
Allow me
To add a lil mo’