An Ode to the Rebels of the NFL

How to Tell You’re Living in Hell

They do not wear a hood

Though perhaps they should

They’d burn a cross on my balcony

If they secretly could

They’re a clique and a clan

And Lord, do they fear this black man

They do not call me nigger

Yet when they see me it’s a trigger

They need a safe space

From the truth of my black face

My words send them reeling

To them, it’s like a thief stealing . . .

Their pride, their world, their whiteness

Me, I gotta find a way to fight this

I know I’m living in hell

But only a fellow warrior can tell

All others are blind—

They think I’m doing just fine

Money, prestige—what’s the fuss

Who ever said integrity is a must?

But if I don’t have integrity,

It’s all a bust

You can always tell you’re living in hell

When it’s your voice white folk want to quell

But you know you’ve found your way out

When it’s their authority you continue to flout

Like a boulder set in the earth, I cannot be moved

Like the promise made from heaven, my hell shall be removed.

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