If art is an expression,

I was a selfish artist.

Hunched over a blank canvas and painting in morse code.

I would draw for someone’s praise like the desperate would work for food.

I’d paint ‘cause I’m good at it,

and someone would look at it.

My ego's never needed the stroke of a painter’s touch.

But I was young and articulate

Black with a white kid’s mouth.

Strangers so impressed with my syntax as if I had drawn it out.

So I spoke to make impressions and wrote to address a nation

Every poem was an apology to someone who spoke like me.

Every line was from a love-letter that person would never read

Or the street of their dream vacation they could never afford to see

I just hope I can take you there

solely on my words as you read.