My shame ran my game and my game was nonexistent

I don’t care I am not here to front, honesty to the point

Hurtful I was more call it hateful to each and all, poor

Underlined my insecurities and raised my hate, fate

Played a part, its where you start, its where you are at

And I was lost oh God, one miserable little kid wrote off

Grow that seed and what you reap is what you sow

Mostly I was alone, safe when nobody else is in the home

I used food as a means to feel good about myself, chubby

Other kids made jokes about my fat and thought it was funny

I laugh like I aint got a problem with it, inside pain is legit

To be alone with a book of my choosing in a quiet room

A plate with a pile of salmon paste sandwiches with a brew

That means a cup of hot sweet tea to you, my first phase

Enid Blyton. Found her books and they made my heart lighten

So engrossed I couldn’t stop reading them, feed off them

I took the joy and incorporated the love into my world

Famous five, magnificent seven, a dog and boys and girls

Ginger beer and sandwiches and cake filled picnic baskets

I could sit for hours drinking tea dunking biscuits, reading

I was in the boat on my way to Kirrin Island with my friends

We had adventures, I was cosy under the covers, with a torch

Plus if not done I took my books to school of course. loved reading

Pleasing, myself, the books on my shelf were my comfort

Escape from this world in a moment, until Enid outgrown it

Then I am in the library searching for some new reading

Agatha Christie season, found her clever detective from Belguim

Hercule Poirot and his little grey cells and his perfect moustache

A change from kids stuff but I was getting older myself

I would read and re-read to solve all his cases, looking for clues

In all the right places, and when I had read every last case

The number of cases I solved before the end of the story

I would like to say all of them but that would be corny

I never got a single one I guess I wouldn’t make detective

But still I read every one of his or her books depends

Which way you look at it, but then I was in a bit of a fix

To myself I should be reading the classics, more grown up

Stuff, but in my mind I was young for my look, I struggled

Time and circumstance curtailed my reading for years

The teenager enigma put together with spiteful vigour

Stood here before the world oft called a nigger, consider

The mind of a teen let loose on a society with all that’s been seen

No saviour no team nobody to come from the clouds

To hear me shout and scream and cry under the sheets,

Beaten again. An angry youth raging at the place he is in

Slowly learning he doesn’t fit in, can you see how it begins

Why is the question I have no answer to, the universe knew

Something inside me that grew alongside the hate intensely

My peers from those years ended up dead or in jail, life fixed

Not black and not white I am a mix, Jamaica, Montego Bay

Yorkshire UK, a blend of the two, English through and through

From young I was aware that to some folk I am a nigger

To mask the hurt I am not white, this is how I figured

 Not white so yes I am black, for years I believed that

Till one night at a party a black girl called me a no nation pickney

That’s when it hit me, celebrate the fact I am mixed race

So so important for a youth to find a place, though not easy

Now for my moment of history grown alone as a man

Inside my heart there is a level of enduring love unplanned

Through all the years the tears the fear, love slowly grew

Alongside my hate the love would come through, who knew

The line I drew and would not go over stopped me being bolder

If the risk was too great I had no problem pulling out stay safe

My motto look after me, no one else will do it for me obviously

Waffled on enough times I think I am crazy

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