To be black or not to be black —— that is the question
Whether ‘tis wrong to have dark skin
And not be seen as a human,
Or to stay white like many,
And, by saving myself, be normal.

To be white, to live an easy life ——
No more —— and by staying white
The worlds opinion of me
That will always be good ——
‘Tis a life
I do not understand.

To be black, to live a difficult life ——
To fear, maybe everyone. Aye, there’s the sickness,
For in being black who you are
When your color is revealed
Must already be made.
That’s the sickness
That makes life difficult.

For who does not want to be white,
The porcelain skin,
The always described as a he or a she,
The never described as a WHITE he or she,
The dominant race,
The majority,
And the consequences
That were made by the past,
When all was hatred,
Yet still given respect in the present?

Who would change their color to black,
To stand out from a crowd of white,
But fear to be judged by the color of your skin,
The unknown people that will use foul language
In reference to you
While you wonder how,
How could you be hated
For something you were born with?

Thus being white is much easier to live by than the rest of us,
And thus the hope of being accepted
Is forever lost by this everlasting war
And still I see beauty in my skin that is dark
With such dignity and pride
And faith that God sees it too.