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Being black is hard.
Quite obvious to the general observer-
At least you’d think

You see our shades of red staining the pavement
As the last things we say stain the brains and hearts of those
Just like us

You hear our tired cries for change
After having black meet red, white and blue each time we go down,
Standing together, faces against the world no matter what
You know why? Cuz we’ll always be “Family”

You’ll always be the one to take us in,
shower us with golden rays of love,life
and cultural richness

That is until prisms of light cast our spectrums across the gold embroidery
Vibrant reds, oranges, greens, yellows, blues, violets
Holding hands with the togetherness of being black.

But what do you do when one hand lets go in...