A short bus ride

If it's not my skin tone, its my hair type. The one thing a bus ride just wont hide. Like why I am looked at upon just one ride. I'm different, but it's not just black and wait. Or is it? Because I'm African American. Born with the power to make fear, across a chair, and make people stare. Because thy believe, in the idea. What is it? Because I am different, I am a thief, I cant afford to live the New York City Life style. So I am here to hurt, here to be feared, here to not be there. No one doubts, with just a stare, right in their eye, just a bus ride, just sitting down the idea that I give, that I can never here. But I can't let it stop me.