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I dream that the country I live in will love me Like I have loved it. I am grateful But how has my country,which I left everything behind for been grateful back By fitting me into a group, calling me a rapist
There was a man who ventured off to pillage and to rape Gluttons had consumed their home though they left not to escape Greeted on the shore by people he called lovely
Don't Judge the Color of My Skin 
Is it possible to diverge from an ethnocentric view? Why do people have to try and make others “civilized,” They don’t get to understand the people’s culture, Instead try and change them into the “better” ways.
So, my skin isn't too light. Some might even say it's not right, just wrong. My hair isn't long by the beauty-man's standards. It lacks in flat and lifelessness. It's curly and wild, not wispy and slight. My eyes shaded with shadows and brown.
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