We Are Not Our Clothes

We are not our clothes yet you pick us apart,
As if Jesus wasn’t the only one hanging on a cross,
Skin color became that of an Eskimo,
Only able to see our eyes which become entirely white or black,
If he wears a bow-tie, slacks, and a dress shirt,
He must be Urkel’s cousin,

Ignoring the lines drawn not in a coloring book,
But on my mother’s mirror when she asks for help,
Black skin signifies Sean Johns and a do-rag,
We are not our clothes yet you pick us apart,
Confused how a short skirt signifies she wants sexual intercourse,
Similarly confused how gang colors determine non-White lexicon,

Prepared for sleep but not an attack in daylight,
When a full-bearded man rides the metro,
Wearing Islamic clothing wanting to make it to Friday prayer,
How do you grasp at a terrorist attack,
When the likely hood of a KKK hanging,
Right wing Christian bombing Planned Parenthood are more likely,

We are not our clothes yet you pick us apart,
Compliment me on my waist size and heels,
Ask where I’m from and if my answer doesn’t suit you,
Trying to bring my ancestry into play,
Not sure how immigration contributes to my GPA,

At this point we do not along,
Wishing for zealots to become relics,
And religious factions to stop reacting,
Whether she visits Victoria or has Secrets,
Your approval is not needed,

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