Waking up with frustration,
unable to see,
unable to be heard,
unable to change,
Going to bed with frustration.

The cycle continues
hope and faith are always there
but frustration cuts in my skin
killing every bit of hope and faith my soul tries to hold on to

They look at me and think they know me,
does the color of my skin define me?

I was force to believe I wouldn't go far
but my fathers and my grandfathers died for their dream
but I still hear whispers in the corner.
They look down on me,
or do i look down on myself?

The tears run down my face,
because I need strength.
Strength to change the world
to continue what my fathers and grandfathers started.

Freedom was not given to me when the country was established
The fight for freedom still continues

The prison might be gold now,
But It is still a prison.