I like to think of Langston Hughes. 
A Harlem Renaissance man who expressed himself  
creatively during a time when many were afraid to Speak, 
Live, Dream. 
Instead of fighting with his fists, this educated man 
picked up a pen and pad, and let his voice
be heard through words, which are now timeless.
“I, Too,” is a poem by Hughes that gives the 
oppressed a voice, a sense of hope; a sense of pride. 
Didn't want their guests to see us back then,
but now we sit at the table with our heads held high. 
Our skin is darker, but just as equal to the pale. 
Some fled this land on ships and sailed, while we
Stayed, Prayed, Conquered. 
Indeed, we've worked too hard to be shipped back to Africa. 
Worked too hard to go to a foreign land like Scandinavia 
and then be forced to live like scavengers, thralls or peasants 
because they won't give us what they've promised us. 
This land is our land too and we won't be driven out. 
Call us whatever you like, with the exception of the N-word. 
In the past, the misuse of that word has left a few with 
a dream deferred.  
I like to think of Langston Hughes.