Love and kindness come in so many hues
But race somehow is still the glue
The sticky thing we hold on to
We use it to ask, “how good are you?”
When I walk in a store will I choose to see you
Or ask you if these shoes come in blue?
When I see you on the ground
will I run to your aid and call you sir?
or assume you’re a bum
and leave you in the dirt
When I go to describe you
will I say that guy who is black?
or use you character traits as facts?
When looking for a lover
will I only see color
or the ambitions and goals
we share with one another?
Race is such a tired excuse
to subject your neighbor
to hate and abuse.