there is a storm brewing inside of me
it will take me to my grave
i am socially dead like patterson wrote of the slaves
i am a poisonous thought in a venomous brain
confused misunderstood dil ap i dated jade
i am filled with havoc disillusion and constraint
it reaks in here of hate anger and paint
the paint the world uses to create fake satisfaction happiness and joy
So i sit and hope one day i will wake from this coldness...
the world supplied me with no paint.
im stuck in an unacquainted world
that feels none of my pain


im young black and educated
they ignore me
But soon i will make it rain.