This skin is not black, your eyes are, why should I be persecuted because you choose to live in darkness, blinded by your hearts blackness.
This skin is not black, your guns are, slave masters in blue, bullets whipping the life from use and shackling us into deaths eternal slumber.
This skin is not black, but I'm sorry you don't know the different shades of brown, sorry that we instill the fear of God in you so much so that you mistake yourself for him, reigning his judgment down in the form of death, sorry that God gave us his sun kissed graces and for some reason it angers your pale faces.
This skin is not black, your mind is, because something is different you define "it" as diminutive, brand "it" primitive, because your mind draws a parallel between skin and what's within..
If our blood being red is not enough, at least find solace in the fact that souls have no race, if not I will because after we die your bias has no place.