A New Name to the Game

 

No child is born racist

But these stereotypes stick

Just with a modern basis.

 

If you are black

You must be able to do this.

If not, you are whack

But there is no difference, I assure you miss.

 

Grills and rap songs

Are only one part of the list

That has come to define us as one.

 

Just add on a do-rag, sagging pants, the gold chain

And Throwing up a gang sign.

Not to mention the identifiable slang.

Just consider who we are going to rob next time.

 

For some, this is how you’re supposed to act.

Scarred to be considered white

For you might be shunned and no longer part of the pack.

 

A color is merely a tool

Used by artists

To create a story, not a fool

Who categorizes certain targets.

 

Natural is the next hot trend

But first we must overcome

Something that will take years to amend.

 

Tone has the ability

To make one feel inscrutable

And encourage hostility

Towards those who just want to feel beautiful.

 

Flower power was colorblind.

We had the same prints

And pants of the time.

 

 

 

 

Love is in the same boat

Drifting through the hearts of those all around

Making life worth staying afloat

Oblivious of white, purple, or brown.

 

It’s about what the heart feels

Not who has Jungle Fever.

Leave the heart to spin its own wheels.

 

The shackles are not visible.

The scars are not raised.

The idea of slavery seems almost fictional

But the mind is dazed.

 

The legal practice has been replaced with a sport.

Where the sickle has become a ball

And the field has become the court.

 

The Nike symbol in place of the whip

Constantly striking their body

With its powerful grip.

Forcing the game to become a hobby.

 

Expectations are the new chains.

If you ain’t got no hops,

You can’t make it far in the game.

 

Eighty dollars for a pistol

But when there’s a crisis

That sixty-cent bullet becomes a missile.

Casket for son: Priceless.

 

A gun was pulled from the waist

Resulting in a drive by shooting

Where the bullet was misplaced.

 

Be like Mike is what they express

It is another way out.

A way out of the projects.

That is what they make life about.

 

The name of the game is to be the best.

Shouting Kobe with every shot

Each make is a pound to the chest.

 

 

Striped bare for all to see

And inspected from head to toe.

They wanted the cream of the crop, we can all agree.

Similar to finding who has the best free throw.

 

The biding is no longer done on plantations

But on national television for all to witness.

These players are fooled by coach’s admiration.

 

Before, they had no say

To which owner they would go.

Now they can choose for whom they play

But is that so?

 

Is it all configured in advance?

But the lottery picks their number

So is it just left up to chance?

 

Each slam-dunk calls for mighty cheers

But when they miss

They are waved off with sneers

And a soft tisk-tisk.

 

God forbid they choose not to play

And choose a different path

Or even worse, if they are born gay.

 

The King had a dream

For America to truly believe

And justly express what they mean

When they say that we are all able to achieve.

 

Who is here to deliver a speech

To elaborate on the issues of the century?

Such as all of the kids who are obese

And the inability to avoid becoming a trajectory.

 

Our elders are usually regarded as role models.

Using them as a basis for our live choices.

But are their life’s struggles something we want to follow?

 

They, themselves, are not the enemy.

It is the continued oppression

And the conservative mindset that has become a tendency.

Such a touchy subject that no one wants to question.

 

Moving up on the ladder

While gaining high status

Was the dream sought after.

 

 

Trip to Paris

And fine dining

Is next on the bucket list,

Next to stigmas declining.

 

This battle doesn’t just begin

With those on the outside,

But also those found within.

 

To decide or not to decide

Is the question

That we all must not confide

But, instead, must boast like a confession.

 

We are the canvas

But what is actually manifested

May not be what they consider blackness.

 

Open their eyes

For they must see

That they have won a price.

They now get to see what it means to be you and me.

 

Despite their excitement to see a mutant

They will soon settle down

Once they notice that we are just human.

 

We scoff at the generations before us

With their unjust morals

But all we have done is digress

And have fallen in line with their chorus.

 

 

 

            `