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People need a reason

One that they can understand

Perhaps an addiction

Or the colour of a hand

It brings people discomfort

When things are not the same

I don’t have a problem

So whiskey takes the blame

A brown paper bag

And the occasional fall

That’s all I have to do

For coke to turn to alcohol

I pretend so they can rest

But others have no choice

If you happen to be coloured

People take away your voice

A frenzy is created

When it’s black vs. white

But the truth is disregarded

And white is always right

It is ignominious

And I hate the way they hate

They are dangerously blind

Twisting the black man’s fate

I have exiled myself

Not wanting any part

I’m made violently ill

By their strangely fearful heart

The end has been prewritten

Poor Tom will not heard

The town commits the crime

To kill a mockingbird