You dare call me an armchair revolutionary
You say that my soul is not rooted in the fight
My blood not that of a stolen king
You say that my words are fluid 
Wasteful
Because I refuse to put the coup before my college degree
Explanation is as follows:
I need to earn a piece of paper
That will ‘validate’ the knowledge 
that my Nana instilled in me
At age 7
Take Statistics and Biology 
and a World History class that discards the truth 
That civilization was indeed 
born in Africa
Spend thousands of dollars on 
what is socially accepted as education
When in fact
I have failed to learn anything 
but the value of my dollar
I need to march across a stage
Shake a mans hand who has never seen me 
Even in passing
And then I will be fit for the big city that awaits

You see, I need to be able to survive 
before I can elevate my people

So
While I am doing what needs to be done 
In compliance with this collegiate institution
You, my brotha are on the street corner
Preaching to no one
Begging for nickels and dimes 
A listening ear
A softened heart
A burning spirit
And although I am sitting in the lobby of the revolution
Patiently waiting for my turn
At least
Kind sir
I am going to get one.