In my dreams, I’ve seen packed churches...with niggas outside saying fuck the police

The casket is always closed the face inside is unknown,

My body isn’t the only one that is running cold…

I hear grief and pain as I walk around searching for a familiar face,

The walls are burning down around me, but I’m so focused on trying to save face

I go to a school where I’m surrounded by a racist face no matter the place

How can I even explain my pain?

It’s true a rich white man can’t understand my oppression

So when I wake up I pick my face up and speak nothing of my nightmare

That has turned to chronic depression

I repeat to myself that I have no reason to be offended

The word nigga has no meaning...especially when it comes from a white face

I shouldn’t expect less from a place where at football games they wear blackface

My heart aches

I feel wrong when I stand for a flag that doesn’t stand for me

To get me past my anxiety through the halls I listen to the smooth sounds of

Solange guiding me to my destiny

The smoke around me is restricting my lungs and weakening my voice

Tears fall from the inside, and my screams have been lessened to a small noise

All I ask is if that face in the casket turns out to be mine… don’t let the smoke take your voice like it took mine