The blood that was born into these veins,
An exquisite interior was also born into an exterior pain.
One that no matter what you do to amass your fortune and fame,
Nothing would change.
A dark cloud cast upon me a beautiful gift seen as a threat,
Hate soaked like wondering hours in the rain.
My story never one that’ll matter because of my hue,
Point your finger I must be the one to blame.
I’m guilty a melanin descendant of the creator fighting for equality,
Or the instance you’ll acknowledge me but I’m the one labeled strange.