Can’t you see it on our face,
Can’t you see the chips in our nails,
And the dirt in our hair,
Can’t you tell that we just climbed out of a tomb,
That we’ve been alone,
And out of the sun’s reach,
Our only company the worms,
But they didn’t want our flesh,
They said it was too warm,
And the parasites,
But they didn’t want us as a host,
They said we were too broken,
And the roots,
But they didn’t want to be near us,
They said we were too hollow,
And the dead,
But they didn’t want our conversation,
They said we knew nothing,
And then we came here,
And they said we were too used,
Too fractured, too tormented,
Too charred to walk amongst the living,
Too depressed to smile back politely,
Too tortured African to be patriot American,
Our name too tainted,
Our home too war torn,
Our sun too hot,
Our peoples’ throats too dry,
And their stomachs too empty,
Nothing easy on the eyes,
Too much pain to just let get by,
Then they said we didn’t come from enough,
Not nearly enough for an even trade,
We didn’t come from enough sympathy,
Or enough rain, not enough food,
Not enough laughter, or shining smiles,
Not enough space in the cemetery,
Our graves are suffocating,
Not enough room in the masjid,
Everyone wants to speak to God,
Not enough answers for all their questions,
Not enough tears being caught,
Or grass growing where they drop,
Not enough dreams, not enough bandages for bleeds, not even enough sleep,
Not enough, not enough, not enough,
A person only flees home when it’s not enough, or when it’s just too much,
And in turn is too much, and just not enough.