Fully Loaded.

70% cocoa,

30% ambition.

Today I've got a guest chef in my soul,

stewing up all sorts of thoughts in the kitchen.

This one is for the kids,

who were told they didn't listen,

being taught in foreign languages,

bribed with mirrors which reflected miracles,

because oh how that melanin has a diamond glisten.

How could we not marvel at our own reflection,

it must've been the first time we attested to your God's perfection.

Yet you turned us against each other,

using greedy lines to divide and conquer,

till we couldn't recognize our home,

so we couldn't identify our brothers.

You put laws in place,
to make sure,
that what's "yours" will always be yours.
Reclaiming what was claimed,
same house, 
all you did was replace the door.

Every day i break through your prejudice,

as my skin precedes my name.

For generations that were,

& for those to come,

whispering to each other,

"it doesn't matter, they all look the same".

So i make sure that i exceed my own expectations,

which amount to an exponent of yours.

You see what obstacles block me,

i see a way in which i am more than just a lost cause.

All my life I've had to measure up to your values,

but now life's all mine & these dirt roads have turned into avenues.

Carelessly addressing genocidal injustice,
as if it were self imposed,
unrelaxed minds with straight objectives,
leave time for reflect or pause,
and in those moments,
i strive to recognize how i'm more than more,
looking up at the sky, as you eclipse my magic,
mouth open,
urging the rain to pour.

"I didn't know, we were all brainwashed", 

in a panic you'll say,

As you look into my eyes,

that are telling you to leave,

in your desperate slurred attempts to stay.

Offering diluted solutions,

that benefit you way more than i,

Surface level answers,

that conveniently serve as your cross generational,

eternal,

alibi.

It's bigger than you, it's your mindset,

that's been you & your armor.

Well, my mindset won't let me sit back,

and wait for that petty bitch you introduced me to,

i think her name is Karma.

Revenge, you say is sweet,

but i think it has a bitter smell,

much like you,

i resist it with forgiveness,

as i ask your God every night in tears,

"How could i forgive this?".

Impostor, i'll call you,
as you've took & took all the while, 
never bothering to learn my name.
They say it's not what you're called but what you answer to,
which gives me an explanation for your,
statue accented, 
self inflicted fame.

My words should penetrate your skin,

like the silver force of your culture draining bullet.

i'm not saying much, except what you understand,

and with that,

i leave this in your hands.