Sunday, January 11, 2009

At Age 13

Transcript is below the fold

At 13 he's holding a blade between his veins. Struggling to remain sane to find an escape to the pain he's being forced to sustain by being strictly forbidden to exist as is.  At 13 he tires but he can no longer hold the pain inside but nor can he cry because his soul had grown so cold, his tear are frozen.  No longer able to pierce the holds in his head but he's only a kid but he's dead on the inside, being criticized by church peers as they shout faggot as loud as their hollow hearts would allow.  At 13 his right hands shakes as his fragile skin begins to break while he tries to understand why his pops said he would rather him die than be caught with a guy.  At 13 he could no longer conceive of a reason to keep breathing. He spending every second of every evening eternally pleading and screaming for freedom.  At 13, at 13, at 13 he closes his eyes and hopes to dies while cursing his own breathe as his right hand strikes his left and as the blade moves over his flesh, he pauses his lips to beg God for forgiveness for not having the strength to live his life to the finish but before he can even end his sentence the blade falls and he dies.  At 13. So I'm a fight for what right into the night that a change. I'm a fight for what's right into the night that it change. I'm a fight for what's right into the night that it change.  Some of us are tired of fighting but see I'm fighting because I'm tired.  I'm tired of my existence  being underrated. I am tired of my freedoms being post dated.  Living as the most hated but see liberation is coming and I won't be waiting much longer because the youth is growing stronger and our patience has worn thing.  America will soon realize the truth that we were not born in sin and nor will we pretend for family, church and friends 'cause this here will end. 'Cause we are tired. Tired, tired of boys hanging from polls in basements adjacent to ripped out bibles.  Tired of finding girls holding empty bottles once filled with pills they swallowed to escape the emotional rape of the one place they once felt safe - church. We're tired. Tired of fighting for the right to fight, for the right of my own skin.  You see Farakhan will soon realize the truth that my face is as black as his, regardless of how well decorated my house is.  We're tired. Tired. And mother earth is tired of giving birth to the flowers (inaudible) tired of pretending for kids that are tired of pretending.  We are tired, the fact is even I am tired.  So I'm gonna fight for what's right into the night that'll change.

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