Walking through the store, i feel eyes on me,

surprise on me,

despise on me, 

like i stole something from them.

isn’t it funny how they stole mine

we all know a good home is hard to find 

when the prices go up and morality descends 

all while on us our family depends

 

why must we fight to have a home?

in the beginning Africa was everyone’s birthplace

of course according to them we can barely have a home 

poor, beaten, labeled as the inferior race

 

a white woman, standing in the frozens

pushing her young daughter behind her back

glared at me,

stared at me,

dared me to go back to my own land

huh

isn’t it funny how i was taken from the land to which she wants me to go back

while i stand and demand she doesn’t refer to me as a black (dangerous, wild, animal)

 

white refuses to recognize that

Brown is always black in their eyes

Don’t expect me to stand aside

While my filipino heritage is being denied

 

My mother never knew her identity

Because redneck was the ruling entity

in a small hick town where she was called a disease

And white kids mocked her dirty brown knees

To my mother’s siblings, the culture was lost

Because to my lola, it was worth the cost

To give them a life better than her own

White wash melanin was her way to atone

 

Because of this choice, I am here today

Whites assuming I am a black cliché 

They all see my skin and are quick to assume

That I’m an exotic not allowed in the room

I guess in reality, the fault is mine

i thought we were done with the white and colored signs

 

a security guard came over to “handle the situation”

i was suddenly overwhelmed with a terrifying sensation

as i looked to the ground

all i felt

was my heart start to pound 

eyes locked on the gun on his belt 

his hand massaged the holster 

as he walked a little closer 

daring me to run away

to be target practice so he could play

 

i couldn’t move

 

why does a security guard even need a gun?

so dangerous that he’d shoot me in the back? 

of course for “the protector” that’s half the fun

when the real prize is to mute me because i’m black

why can’t he see that i’m a human being?

a living person with a different face 

from his eyes, i knew he would never stop believing 

that his gun was God-sent to put me in my place

 

regardless

i stood tall

minority does not define me

and if it tries me 

i know it lies to me

 

do not label me as a minority, 

because with that u cripple me

i am the result of 400 years of dreams,

there’s nothing minor about that.

when u label me, i become a number,

lost in the database of your discriminatory/ stereotyping sub-conscious 

i am so much more than that

try as hard as you can to clip my wings,

but know this: i will fly. and i will touch the sun