Spectators

I have a mother, a sister, grandmother and aunts. I have female cousins by the dozen, all of whom raised me.

I am heteorsexual, human and alive.
I have feelings, can be emotional and sometimes cry.
I get angry, dizzy and maybe shy.
Sometimes I get nervous, you can see it in my eye.

I’m free to live, no need to be, what you think I should be,
I like to laugh, so please concede to cook for me.

You have something to say, call me, ask me I’m an open book;
But whats sad is when my own people attempt to slide me on a hook.

Feed me to the sharks, and call me a boogie man,
“He’s a monster, he’s the candyman, stay away hes bad!”
You assume, you don’t know, but you scavenge like a crow.

Feeding off of me like road kill, cause your to week to climb the hill.
Your fancy degrees don’t hide your shame, nor the dirt you lack to proclaim.

I’m a man, was wounded, now watching like Confucious
I know who my friends are, and you, you, and you
spectators cause your losers.

You think me a fool, not to see from above, even the clouds
whisper the moves you make with boozers.

Ray Raffaele

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