Do not ask me, 
"Where were you born?"

Do not stare at me with 
a glazed-dazed look.

You created me with your 
rapings of black women.

You created a people that
closely resemble "them."

Now, what are you going to do?
The noose is tightening.

Paranoia, like firey-embers is
flying high into the hills.

There will be no hiding place.

What nature does not devour is
left to the push-the-button crowd.