Mixed Feelings

I am not a poet
I am just a designer of words
Architect of sentences the way
I form and merge
Paragraphs together that force
Emcees to submerge
With an urge to break free
Of this biracial jail cell
Feast on my memories
Please come and taste this
Papa was a black man, mama was a racist
Growing up she called me nigga
Kids called me cracker
While the whites got whiter
And the blacks got blacker
I was hurting, doing everything I can
Perceived as a white boy with the
Soul of a black man
Goddamn, looking up to Malcolm X
Studying his speeches, underlining text
How can I be white devil
If my parents had sex?
'Cause I'm black and I'm white
And I'm proud of every word that I recite
I know my roots, I know my past
I know the issue of my race ain't gonna last
We all breathe the same air
And bleed the same blood
And when we die, the same ditch gets dug

I still have a dream it
Is a dream deeply rooted
In the American dream one
Day this nation will
Rise up and live out the true meaning of it's
Creed: "We hold these truths
To be self-evident
That all men are created equal"