New Fields

I hate the things I love
And love the things I hate
Blonde hair and pale white skin
Angels I would never date

Brown hair and blue eyes
Brothers that oppress my brother
Passing policies that require chains
I only have the prayers of my mother

The unemployment lines claims miles
They say it’s because of lack of energy
They say my queen just wants to reproduce
They say it’s all because the color on me

So these interviews are like dead seeds
Planted in a field of a new type cotton
There I drink and complain to their God
Lifeless and covered in dirt I am soon considered rotten