I should probably write a song, this story is so relatable it'd make me millions. I just might.
This baby is black, and I don't think you're surprised at all. My white audience may scoff, and that's okay, I'd do the same with no issues in that thousand dollar loft I sing,
Stories of scars most black babies are born with, every string in a black child's heart that's torn in, every reason behind a biological storm,
a story that I feel, she feels, he feels, mothers feel, and what every father stresses and sweats about as they kneel tonight for forgiveness I sing,
Like a bird lost in the night because It's as dark as my skin outside, and I know that lone birds usually die, just like the educational systems out there teach us there are stats in these systems, and they show,
Boohoo Lynch Theories and crows cannot explain this pain and why anyone would ever bring this fate upon us, I sing,
Because someone that's supposed to be a key in my life wasn't really there, and as I struggle to tie a tie and shave hair, I know in the back of my mind that means there's a door that is a little harder to open.
Like a generational curse, we all say that we'll be the change, and just like a father who never gave me his 2 cents that change fell short. Down on the bus to fatherhood.
We all sing, as the long walk to our journey as better people make our feet grow tired. Most of us die before we reach the end, some of us can run a little faster, most of us are mad as to why we even have to do this in the first place.
We sing at night, filled with fright, we try to love ourselves but just by looking at the family tree sawed in half we know things ain't right. We try not to lose balance, singing questions and in confusion about how someone can fail to love something they created.
Like a crappy art piece in an art gallery, we are abandoned and discarded, left to pick up the brushes and become art so I sing,
To be an art form he would've wanted to keep. In hopes that he sees a work of art, a top tier creation, a little "you were wrong" in a mind I couldn't understand.
Like a strong mind, I sing to let go, to assume I understand the confusion, and the sheer fear behind his creation. He found my mother so beautiful and honestly being part of both him and her I get confused as to why he never saw the same in me. Now there's a visible pain in me.
But I sing to let go. Let go, let go, let go. My grip is strong, but maybe we can sing loud enough that I forget to hold on.