Initiating the vigorous montage of syllables sliding down our tongues.
our words of passion
and love of grace.
Bullets of sweat trailing down the shell, we can not change
Embracing the essential individuality
Being diagnosed with diversity,
as if it is a crime.
The non-conformality to achromatic main line,
creates an endeavor
in terms unlikely to make the trip
In which doors await open into...
The mighty Lord created our humanity
of this macrocosm.
No one dare tell me I am somebody who:
sweats for the bloodless,
waits on the ‘flawless’
not be segregated.
I am too a working man
You are too God’s child.
share the same serving of anatomy.
as to WE, are no different.
We are not identical
For the hue of our skin separates us.
Similar we are
As our ticker pounds to the same rhythm.
I am too God’s child,
You are too a working man.
No diversity lies between the pigment
Because we are the same.