B.L. Shirelle

B.L. Shirelle

My spoon wasn’t silver
It was more like wood
Couldn’t eat without a splinter
I was born in a blizzard
In the dead of the winter
And the season never changed
Lived most of my life with a shiver
Lived half of my life in a system
That manipulated the weather
The sun was at a distance
So far it wouldn’t ever dare penetrate my pigment
To make it even richer
That would make me even more of a nigger
But now I see the clouds
Getting thinner
And the rays getting thicker
As my grandmom’s prayers get delivered
It seems that my sunshine’s rising
And the rain is declining
With all my flaws I’m still a perfect picture…