And what shall I say of this thing called life, Yes, this thing!, called life! Many before me have called it a race I have grown to share this sentiment A race of unequal starting points A race to live, a race to death This thing called life, a race of varying meters, tracks unique to each In this race I walk, I jog, I run And I fall, face flat, body bruised, from the ground up, like a phoenix still I rise A privilege in real time I do not acknowledge All in this race shall fall to death, even if not today, tomorrow shall it be Others shall fall, but not to death, They shall fall and never rise, And when they do rise, zombies they become. Not privileged to die, not privileged to live a life devoid of demons, who have now become personal shadows, Life, once a blessing, becomes a menace. Many more, are born to this life, not once knowing what it feels like to rest without tears To sleep without fears, hunted by men regarding your person as inferior, haunted by ideas of men through no good deed of theirs, and through no wrong doing of yours, begin their race a cross country mile ahead of you Is it the color?, lack of a stick for genitalia?, the box I occupy on the world map? I can’t stop to think much of these things, because, I have a race to run In this race, woe is he lacking in allies Who can run this race alone?
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The Race
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And what shall I say of this thing called life, Yes, this thing!, called life! Many before me have called it a race I have grown to share this sentiment A race of unequal starting points A race to live, a race to death This thing called life, a race of varying meters, tracks unique to each In this race I walk, I jog, I run And I fall, face flat, body bruised, from the ground up, like a phoenix still I rise A privilege in real time I do not acknowledge All in this race shall fall to death, even if not today, tomorrow shall it be Others shall fall, but not to death, They shall fall and never rise, And when they do rise, zombies they become. Not privileged to die, not privileged to live a life devoid of demons, who have now become personal shadows, Life, once a blessing, becomes a menace. Many more, are born to this life, not once knowing what it feels like to rest without tears To sleep without fears, hunted by men regarding your person as inferior, haunted by ideas of men through no good deed of theirs, and through no wrong doing of yours, begin their race a cross country mile ahead of you Is it the color?, lack of a stick for genitalia?, the box I occupy on the world map? I can’t stop to think much of these things, because, I have a race to run In this race, woe is he lacking in allies Who can run this race alone?