His heart was tainted with darkness abyss,

Family ancestors of hatred violence,

Simply falling to the scars in his back.

Easily targeted for his skin,

Black with distaste and vile,

The void only grew in his soul;

With the ghosts of his past haunting his trail.

Agony and pain follows his path,

With unloved or fair justices;

Who are they to judge a poor soul and hopes for life?

Those with no worries of fortune or being targeted.

Ones who believe in the fairness of white chocolate skin,

Who are more intelligent,

More beautiful,



Only because of the light sun touch on their skin.

They were never targets of oppressing murders or harmful crimes;

That's where the black man channels his suffering.

Always the one targeting,

Because he's coloring.

Innocent black soul,

Who no one can see the white man behind his eyes;

 With blood running down his hands.


This poem is about: 
My country
Guide that inspired this poem: 


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