Open Your Eyes

Is the color of my skin a crime?

As if I am not alive,

Dear God, all I am trying to do is survive

Because you never know when it’s time to say goodbye.

My people have felt deprived

It’s time to testify,

We’re done being crucified

Let me open your eyes.


A history of chains and ships,


Suffering in pain

Our limbless bodies slayed.

They hid our history

Lied about our ethnicity,

Nothing but human cargo put to sale on a floor show

Being told it’s in the past, let it go.


I scream at the top of my lungs,

Maybe one day, they’ll stop killing our sons.

Look outside there is nowhere to run, as he holds the handgun.

Pain that will never be un-done

We’re just trying to overcome,

Like being black is a crime

I knew the color of my skin was dangerous by the age of nine,

Because of my ancestors who had to sit behind

Years later, still waiting for peace of mind.

This poem is about: 
Our world


Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741