When they call us slaves
I don't feel angry
That they could've insulted our ancestry
We come from a long line of free men and women
I don't feel angry
That we were called something derogatory
We are all slaves in one way or the other
But what sets me off
Is the hatred used in the tone
Of their voices
And their ignorant intention of
Looking down
To feel higher than their insecurities
Say they are
When really,
Their backs are just as bent and crooked
As what lies behind their foreheads and chests.