• I was born outside Detroit,
    I was raised with the impression
    that the good guys always won
    and that I was beyond all lessons.
    But then school went in session,
    and as I fought through my depression,
    I began a new obsession
    that soon became a new profession.

    But my coworkers ignore me,
    and they set their whims before me.
    I can't just sit and talk, I doubt;
    because they just cuss my name out.

    Mic Check! Attention please!
    Why does everybody seem to discuss me?
    I look around at all these faces,
    they're all smiling, so serene.
    Then why do they not see me?

    I shrug and turn away,
    the whispers dying with the day,
    for when the sky revolves to night,
    I lift my pen and start to fight.
    The ink, like blood, spills on the page
    the fruit and strength of my mind's rage
    I just don't care what's wrong or right,

    I lift my pen and start to write.