Is it because of my skin
color you call me a negro,
what about my inner color?
Who am I for you to judge?
Is it because of my reputation
and the names people call me?
Who am I at this time?
Where beauty matters the most
than one's personality, where eyes that
has cried the most are the ones that rejoice,
in time where only white forks
can drive expensive cars without
being pulled over by authority.
Who am I at this time. Well methinks
I'm just a 'crazy' poet who knows nothing,
I'm just a broad way showgirl who will never
be on a real stage or am i just a messenger
...wait...what? Who am I in this world?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Thanks :) People like you are my inspiration.