I heave a cross too heavy to bear.
The burden is the hated skin I wear.
Born with a defect, I did not choose.
My birth mark is this Black and Brown bruise.
It got me shot, for why else am I dead?
I tried to cover it up; I put a hoodie on my head.
In my vehicle, I don’t want to be seen
by the slave patrols on supremacy caffeine.
If I take a walk in the wrong neighborhood,
they gun me down like I’m made of wood.
When they make me the enemy everywhere I go,
the law is on their side and I’m a duck in a row.
These iron chains, I cannot break.
I am still a slave, make no mistake.
They hunt us down and we’ve no place to run.
My hands are in the air; white man, you have won!
Shelby I. Courtland
©2015 Shelby I. Courtland