Was told that someone used some of my scribe, I scratched my head and I shrugged inside, who am I to have such pride when I know the reason why I write is it not for me as much as it is for others some reach for the top stop I have gone further then that in one prose when cotton came to Harlem it wasn't candy and it didn't cost a pennie see this don't make sense to many not as much as paint splattered on canvas why fight for my own words in which only I can speak fluently how can my child not look like me so I guess it's safe to say there's been a kidnapping right