Black...Like Me

by Miguel A. Wilder

Is it the color of my skin, that makes you want to hate me so?

Could it be the mystery of the things you do not know?

Isn't it true, that just like you, my blood is just as red?

When my people were murdered, just like yours, weren't they just as dead?

Why do you hate me so?

What is it, that you see?

After all, you are me.

"Black", "african", "african american", some where down the line we are kin.

"Homeboy", "partner", "my cat", "my dog", we share the same ancestry within.

Sometimes when you see me, you don't recognize my face.

I shouldn't have to fear occupying the same space.

Hell yes, it bothers me, when you pass me by, and can't speak.

With the other races I can deal with that, but it's you I'm trying to reach.

Maybe I'm wrong for expecting you to act like me.

After all you are me.

I don't have a problem giving you a hug, it's just another way of
showing you love, though some might think it's showing femininity.

My goal is to bond us all, so be ready for the call, because you are a
brother, and a friend to me.

I'm not trying to down you my brotha.

I'm just trying to say I love ya.

Open, honest, true, for real, and exactly.

After all, you are black..... like me.

Black...Like Me by Miguel A. Wilder

© Copyright 1998. All rights reserved. No portion of this work may be duplicated or copied without the expressed written consent of the author.

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