Welcome to my funeral.

They don't listen to teens.

You feel me?

Depressed and broken

I am dead.

I hate the things

That help me.

Mixed.

Black and white.

Raised by white

Loved by some,

Rejected by most.

traumatized

I don't know how to fit in,

But somehow I do. 

I just lost a friend. 

You notice me.

you don't know me.

Just leave me lone

I'm in the grave.

If you don't recognize this of me?

Well let me remind you.

 you don't know me.

Or took the time to get to.

I'm taking off my mask 

Without hesitation.

I'm picking up the shovel.

Before you be racist

I will show you the real pain

You see in our faces.

And I've already been through alot.

I have no real daddy.

Just scars.

They dropped me in a foster home.

I was abused.

They left me to starve.

alone.

 my foster brother get shot 

By his own brother.

when I was just the age of 3

4 men raped my mother.

I'm trying to survive.

Im lifting up the dirt.

 

The streets got me hard.

I wish I could erase it

From my mind

And live a normal life.

But no.

I wish God made me twice

But he didn't.

I wish I could be somebody different

But I can't.

You can hear the echoes in the ground.

The shovel drops.

Shovels are worthless.

There was no hope for me.

There never was.

Nope.

No

This is a scar

I have to carry that around with me

Everywhere I go

It follows me

Everything I do

It is an influence

That's why I have no friends

It scares them

To have a friend 

That is messed up

Or think different then them

Do you want to 

Have a friend

With ugly scars on their skin?

My hand is emerging out of the earth.

I wonder why i'm even breathing

Maybe God made me this way

For a good reason.

Even they way i've been beaten,

Or my back bleeding,

Or how gloomy this story is maybe seeming.

Maybe he made me

 The way he wanted me to be,

But I will never be free

From this heartache that

Is burning inside me.

The only good way to write this story

Was in poetry.

I crawl out of my coffin.

Now you finally see

that,

This is me

And it isn't the ending;

 

Lifting the dirt off my back.

I dropped the shovel in my coffin.

The grave is getting louder.

I see hands, and heads.

Coming out of the grave.

They are all coming back.

Everyone's is rising.

Because of my words.

An encouragement.

They were once

dead silent.

Now they are

Sharing their

stories.

They shout.

Because I did.

All I did was 

share.

My vision

Is vivid.

And they

All rise

Up.

Don't wait for someone else to dig you out.

Do it yourself. Humans are weak.

They can’t speak for you.

Rise out of your own grave.

Jesus did it. So can you.

Throw the things holding you back

In your coffin.

Cuz in the end,

It ‘ll all getchu.

But still I rise.

Scratch that.

Still we rise.