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Mulatto Mouthpiece

Growing up In the early 90's Vancouver scene, it taught me the wrong way of looking at me. People imposed their own thoughts and oppression and I put them on like designer dresses. You look at the skin and see what you believe, but never has anyone sat down and talked with me.

I'm not black, I'm mulatto.
Two colors mixed make my brown.
You don't need to impose your fears,
I'm not crying your self projected nigger tears.

See, I grew up thinking I was part black. I'd looked at my brother who had his own dad. Thought our skin was the same and took up their pride but my daddy wasn't there to tell me not to cry.

I'm not black, I'm mulatto.
Two colors mixed make my brown.
You don't need to impose your fears
Viva la revolucion, Jamaica is in Latin America town

I grew up with nicknames imposed by my skin. Like 'black chick', 'negro', even fuckin' 'Ponyboy', shit. Being a kid all I could do was smile but deep down it festers that my skin would turn to the lighter style. Destroyed my curls that were as tight as a whip, pretending my straight hair helped me blend in. I never felt so ashamed of my skin.

I'm not black, I'm mulatto.
Two colors mixed make my brown,
Everyone had it wrong,
Saying I'm black and from the wrong town.

As an adult I'm able to realize, my skin doesn't define the person looking through dark eyes. Upon realization that I don't need to fit in, it's a time where I can finally appreciate my skin. Bathe in the sun like a Southern American queen.

I breath for my skin, it's the basis for my mulatto mouthpiece.

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