I live in a world of dreams crushed...
by anger and despair.
Denied employment cause I'm African...
with curly long hair.
Not given the opportunity to show...
what my mind contains.
One glance at my appearance...
and I'm back in the rain.
Employers don't know braids are part...
of my culture and heritage.
A gift from the Kings and Queens...
who survived the slave middle passage.
Stolen away from a home that...
luved our sun blessed skin.
To a land controlled by savages...
who glorify beating their womyn.
Killing all the true proprietors...
for possession of this land.
Scalping my native bloodline...
then selling them by the caravan.
So I went to a fortune teller...
but her reception was cold.
She wouldn't take my money...
her stare honest and bold.
"Why?" I asked the ancient womyn...
feeling like bread covered in mold.
She gave me an answer yet...
my fortune remained untold.
Her response left me depressed...
as I returned to the road.
She said " young Africans in America...
don't live to grow OLD."