Did I lose myself while trying to be someone else?
Trying to fit into a white society,
that has constantly denied and disowned people like me.
Should I be willing to sell my soul to the overseer of death?
Only to be apart and welcomed through warm open doors,
the doors that belongs to inequality.
Building myself up on my own two feet,
nevertheless, something is keeping me.
Once out of my mother’s womb,
I could see the death of my demise kissing me goodnight
pain, sorrow, and a daily struggle each tucking me in tight.
As I matured and became what is known as a man,
understanding there is a small glimpse of hope.
Hope for a new era for the Negro,
without the help of anyone’s hand.
Comprehending you were fine all along,
you were not the one causing the wrong,
but only a victim,
of losing oneself.
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Comments about this poem (Losing Yourself by A.J. Love )
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