Something in the air isn’t right
Its suffocating me
Wrapping itself around my throat
And i cant breathe
I cant think straight
I cant see right
I can’t be me …
The sun is blocked off by the clouds
The atmosphere is white
The people are white
My white socks have holes in them
My white shoes are dirt filled, too small for my feet
My house in the bronx has no ceiling
Large roaches fly everywhere
Mahogany floor boards are lifted...
The way my soul has been lifted
And my mahogany colored skin lingers in the streets
It lingers like an empty vessel
Soulness
Lacking inspiration, motivation
Lacking purpose
The atmosphere is white
The people in the east village are white
My roommate is white
My mother is white
I’m brown
Brown like the soil
Brown like worn out bricks
“Brown like the perception of who’s on welfare”
My school is for white folks
The education is for white folks
And i’ve been patted into the soil
Like a worm
And i feel as though a crow will soon come down to pick me up
Swallow me up
A black crow, so violent
A white dove, so gentle
I walk through the east village, my mind has been shaped by third avenue
Clean room, no roaches, no rats
An east village fantasy
I say fantasy because
in the Bronx my section 8 housing is falling apart
I wont visit my mother because I’m ashamed of where i’ve come out
Another empty vessel that has shaped me
Like a matryoshka doll
A mentality that is bricks,
Artificially forced to fit concretely
But my mentality yonders everywhere
The way these bricks will when the world comes crashing down
Climate change
We will be our own demise
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