Explain in high soprano like you

know I'm going to hurt you where I can,

where I will. Explain in your many

tongues how you were trying to make

a statement. With my blood.

I could explain to you what it means

to be proud of where you've come from.

Knowing there's a trail of dead bodies

littered in one name. If you can't respect

them, I will make you respect me.

Finding glitter shining gold in your hair,

colors I don't get to know, a fear of purity

you don't believe in Aryans 'cause you

have a fear of relating, you know that a

mixed Euromutt doesn't understand.

You've always had that security, no eyes

in shopping malls. Math jokes, yeah and

spraying beer bottles, no wonder I'm an

alcoholic. I've never felt so wounded.

Not like this. Not like your summer tan

(still paler than Delilah, who I am) passing

through means much. Not like I can pretend

I know what to do with this.

But you don't have to see it except on TV

screens, oh that's too bad. This rage is whiter

than your skin and blazes bluer than the stovetop

in your tall suburban shelter. I guess it is too

bad that you are just a casualty of your nationality,

that your preference is to be bland.

I'm basic because the complexity goes right

over your head. Because you don't remember

Naya Nuki or Tokyo Rose. Because I want

your security in being colorblind, by treating us

all as one race you extinguish the past.

And in the tradition of my people(s),

I will be the one who understands.