I Speak for the Weak

What Language do you speak? Is it mine? Is it yours? Is it with a club or with words? Is it Humanity yet insanity to have compassion for one of a different Hue? Can we not have one dream just like the American Dream? My language is English yet I’m a minority My Homeland is American property yet I’m ostracized I work for the benefit of my community yet I’m considered a pest I may not be Black but I’m brown. Brown as the dirt from Central Mexico A cry is heard from my people just like that cry that was heard Fifty Years Ago It is my turn to step up to the batter’s plate and hit a grand slam. I feel the fear, the hate, and the glowers from those who consider me nothing more than source of cheap labor I’m no one’s labor but my own Neither man nor woman will ever whip me to shape to do their dirty work My identity is as solid as any entity’s being Caucasian, African, Asian The Natural Right I have to live and thrive is the same as others The perfect world that the Christians or pacifist preach is meaningless The words of the world are the final say in the meaning of peace.