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?
Over
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
Collar
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’
Color