Picking up the torch to rise

My rendition of Still I Rise by Maya Angelou

Some may call me lucky with this skin of mine,

Because it’s “bright” in that man eyes.

For a moment I’m not black I could pretend…

Like my adversaries say I’ll be sure to win.

From clay we begot

Offsprings of a broken lot.

And as she say,

I still rise

Am I so lucky? To be a fair complexion,

A house Negro we’re called due to the that mans obsession.

Am I lucky…according to you -my skin the result of continued rape?

On a scale from 1-10. Some circles still call me an ape.

Am I lucky or not? It matters very little

The end results the same

Still I rise

I rose to the occasion to be an educated woman,

To hell with the loan

It was paid from my ancestors being stoned, taken from their home.

Am I to complain or to not play my part?

Escaping a world of hate where being black is only art.

I can’t be, I shouldn’t be, that’s what they say

I do the same work for a fraction of the pay.

But it’s OK because I have a plan,

To be the opposite of what you post simply because I can!

I have shoes to fill with my size six,

No more lies, No more games, No more tricks.

I must be, I have to, for what they’ve endured

This comes as no surprise

like she said

Still

I rise

I rise

~Z Jay

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