THE MISEDUCATION OF a 90s NEGRO

Like the rope that broke the neck of the nigger-father-son-brother in Mississippi, WE will not be broken.

Like reality was still here, the truth will be spoken.

Like the seat that housed the buttocks of the tired Rosa Parks, WE will soon be warm.
Like the mother tangled in fear protecting her newborn son, WE will not be harmed

Like the father working nights, WE are not just another dead-beat-dad statistic
Like materialistic-fiends, we will thrive for retail logistics.

Though we loss the chains and name [NIGGER], the pain still remains.
Constantly being drenched in bleach, then being ridiculed for being permanently stained.

But like a disobedient dog, we will not be trained.
Why?
Because this 90s negro was under the impression that we were all born the same.