I cover my eyes with a blanket,

As I hear horror screams,

I turn my head as mom fainted,

As if we were a losing team,

Shadowing the truth as a hope to be famous,

But kids are hardly to make it out as a way to be tainted,

The truth is not to be set free,

But a hard life my mom raised three,

No regrets no father,

But a hope to get farther,

To see the riches of life,

Knowing that african-american had no rights,

Learning about the truth like a cake cut by a knife,

With a delectable sight for a raising start,

But my true passion for crafting art,

Like a sense of looking for colors in the dark,

But like spark with red white and cream instead of blue,

But their is still a shadowing dream I go threw