When you see me what do you see?
Are you looking with thoughts of complexity?
Or do you judge me by my skin?
Misperceptions take over your thoughts within.
When you see me what do you see?

When I see you, I see me
In the parking lots, of Abu Dhabi.
Sitting on curbs ,on cars, you’re noticeable from afar, deep in number.
And as some begin to slumber, you begin the wait.
Standing, waiting, sitting, waiting.
In clothes scantily clad, waiting to be had.
Waiting, for whoever’s willing.
Waiting, because somebody needs a sensual healing,
Waiting, in the post meridian.
You know the places near the area, the club, that’s a hub for certain night time activities.

I walk by and my soul cries, as my eyes are wide open, shut.
We’re not one in the same, but when some see me, they see you.
Since our skin is the same hue.
And all I can do is be heartbroken.
I know my privilege is a token, at times discarded by the beholder.

I was denied entry into a venue.
Felt dejected being rejected.
But sometimes, things like that are expected.
I refused to fight for my right to party
I’m not beasty, but boy I held my tongue, with hesitation.
Because I knew I didn’t need a reservation.
My pride was sided and I decided not to say:
Do you know who I am? An American?
Yes, my skin indicates African.
But, I’m American. African American. Let me in.
I’m being told I can’t enter yet I’m from the epicenter of the music being played: Hip Hop.
You’re telling me to stop? Blasting music created by folks that look like me?
How can this be? Oh, the irony.
I knew it was wrong to say I didn’t belong, but I moved on.
Being turned away was not okay, but have a nice day, anyway.

One time, I finished grocery shopping and hopped in my car.
That’s when he approached me from afar.
The accent, I couldn’t place nor his race.
But he asked me to a room and I’m like, you bafoon.
Clearly, not thinking.
Not trying, classifying the skin that meets the eye.
He saw a shade of brown and looked down, upon me.
In his eyes, my black body was made for his pleasure.
But it’s not, it’s a treasure, a temple.
This dude was really simple.
Occurrences like these, helped me to see and have empathy.
So when I see you, I see me. In the parking lots of Abu Dhabi.

When I walk by, my soul cries, as my eyes are wide open, shut.
We’re not one in the same, but when some see me, they see you.
Since our skin is the same hue.
And all I can do is be heartbroken.

Because my passport is a token.

When you see me what do you see?
Are you looking with thoughts of complexity?
Or do you judge me by my skin?
Misperceptions take over your thoughts within.
When you see me what do you see?