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