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Rated: E · Poetry · Political · #1279747
The power of words, and the conditioned mind.
Minority? Why am I a minority?
Am I not just as major as the so called majority?
How am I so less important and not a priority,
that I've agreed to the label of myself as a minority?
Is this land not of equal rights and opportunity?
Or has this word "minority" gotten the best of our citizenry?
This word so set in our minds, making us believe that we're not major players
unless crossing field goal lines.
That we're not major buyers unless spending welfare dimes.
And these are the times? The Good Times when we're keeping our heads above water,
Because for us lacking in social class has become order.
Because everytime we get a dime it's spent like it's a quarter.
Then complain when we can't make a dollar for the fifteen cents we owe?
Then complain when we neglect the very education our fathers fought for?
"Millions More!" "Milions More" Millions more?
A million more ways to take on the chance of a lifetime, or a million more ways to blame our faults on "the White crime" ?
Because there are millions more ways to endanger the Black mind.
Or should I not cross that line, because it's not a minority trait?
Well I'm sorry, but I refuse to remain in a mminority state.
© Copyright 2007 B.j.Nelson (bjnelson at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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