There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you,
Its pain runs so deep.
I look in the mirror, not really sure of what I see.
The color of my skin pops out at me.
Ears, eyes, nose, mouth-they’re all regular.
The skin, the skin is what they all see.
It’s different from their’s, a precursor to my dreams.
They see me and assume, they hear me and laugh.
Who I am is different, put that on blast.
Don’t define me by my skin.
Don’t wrap me in a box.
Let’s agree to differ, my soul is wrought.