A poem by Jason Renard Walker
How I lived, what I ate And what I wore is not who I am. My skin is my sin, Which was dealt to me Like a shantytown hustler’s sleight-of-hand win. I ask for my freedom But I’m told no such thing exists. I’m told I’m not human, I’m not worthy and I am not a man. If I’m am not a man and you are, Why do I slave and thrive above your soil? Isn’t a man one who…