no knife to my chest no slit to my wrists
yes life is a bitch but i still put up with all of life's bullshit
it may push me to the side, stomp on me
make me cry.
rip me off the wall then laugh at it all, like a
girl so innocent being called a bitch.
not knowing her struggle or who she really is
like them calling me African American when I'm really Jamaican
lies and hate being sprayed out like an oasis in a desert
having unequipped teachers writing red paint on the projector
disabling me and others of what we call free
but you don't even know how it is to be
locked in a broken down foggy lifeless community
rotting in the American dream
crying out at the fact that I am too American, technically.
Canada sure does look good now don't it?
any place other than here
we scream so far but won't travel past our feet
I'm telling you AMERICA ... is fucking us over and over, I'm through!
like a mid-day slave reaching for water and food
poisoned by the air I breath
beaten with the insecurities that he .. she .. throws upon me
I suffer and you laugh
my community and also my love do you see my tears go deeper than my face?
for at first I may not see the effects of betrayal
but my spirit is breaking, growing weak yet scared
my lips still tingle with the hope that's left
all I need is a hand, & a heart to join with me
In what we stand for
holding out my empty hand to receive a thought
only disappearing before my eyes
stay quiet and listen to the little voices cry, I'm telling you
there's more to this life than what we see
like living in the lap of luxury carrying the luggage they hold upon me
breaking barriers, focusing lenses
a sweet spray of desperation on my tongue
pierced the muscle of truth and die the greatest
under stress and underestimated.
as a walking, hurting, burning, human being I smash in your face that you're s*** out of luck
self enlightenment fills up your consciousness cup
but my washed out brain won't let me give a fuck
too busy kissing ass and you watching to do the same
I'm telling you .. I'm not you
to take all I have to walk like this
put my hand on my hip like this, you probably wouldn't notice.
still no knife to my chest or slit my wrists
moving onward with no self pity
In this place i deem my washed-out city.