We are told, From birth, To grow thick skin, To protect our pain, Our organs within, Supposedly, It's for us, To steadily go, Into a world, That hurts,
That generations, Have known, But truly, It is a cultural tarp, To shield, Big problems, To blot out, The dark,
To cover, For shame! What wont be faced, To say it's "ok", This happens, In your race, This happens, To your face, Thick, skinny, Spiritual grace,
Your skin will expand, Cover over a land, A country! But not protect you, You of vital organ, Call sign, Your gut might burst, With policy lies, Your heart might rupture, And lie by your side,
Lord! Give me breath! For the history, I must absorb, And not show bereft, I can be dying inside, But my thick skin Keeps it hidden, Keeps secrets safe,
Victorians, Thought it, Miracle dealt, Built goddamn, Awful "scientifically" proven, Inhumanly strong, Eugenic Pelts, For keeping trauma, Within, And my man, William Blake, Even put satire in,
Read Little Black Boy again, Then shelve. The thing, What they never tell you is, That... that.... skin, Grown double thick, Don't look so nice, Sir, It is sinewy, Meshed together, Twisted, And it hurts, To wear,
But at least it's there, To keep the world ticking, "Now go on, go git," I got a hard-back - World to live in!