When I ask to help a lady she quickly goes for her purse, when people see me get mad they think I’ll storm out and curse. Everyone thinks I know the score to every basketball game, they say “what’s up dog?” instead of using my name. When I walk, my friends ask why I’m not sagging my pants but I only feel anger for giving those assholes a chance. When I go into a movie people stare cause I’m silent, but in the dark I sit scowling trying not to get violent. When teachers grade my papers they all think that I cheated and when I get my F back I put my head down defeated. But I’m more than skin; I’m more than my race, when I walk into a ghetto I’m not running the place. What the world needs to see is that I am someone, not a disgruntled charity case who’s just hiding his gun. I’m often called white because I offer to read and I’m not head over heels when someone offers me weed. In the USA were given freedom of speech so I’m saying black people are not society’s leech. I put in work; work so my brothers can eat, I put in work, so my mother doesn’t have to sleep on the street. I put in work, work so I can go to school; I put in work, so I’m not just seen as another black tool. When I get home from work I shut down like I’m electronic and when I talk to my peers I don’t speak in Ebonics. I’m tired, tired of hearing this crap, tired of being laughed at cause I don’t listen to rap. I’m tired, tired of my race selling itself, with names like Soulja boy and Lil’ Wayne flying straight off of the shelf. But one thing I learned from being stuck in my skin, is that justice is blind and rich men tend to win. But I’m proud, proud that I am who I am, so when I pay my taxes I can say f*** Uncle Sam. He is not related to me and I don’t think he’s a friend because people like me put racist rants to an end. Though equality moves at such a glacial pace, I’ll hold my head high and keep reppin my race.