I feel as if I exist with no purpose,
Like a living zombie, just walking on the surface.
I was given a name to represent,
But who am I?
Tatiyana, a name which they gave me,
The name they thought of when they made me.
I resided in the womb,
Small little thing in a small little room,
But who am I?
I walk these streets, completing my deeds,
My happiness forgotten, but I need to succeed.
What does this name mean?
My history goes as far as slavery and beyond..
My history has been written about and put into songs,
But who am I?
My skin is a shade darker than everyone else's
I hear Pray for Paris, but what about the others?
Since when did my pigment define my character?
Since when did my ethnicity define my effort?
A name, a label, but who am I?