"to the Lil'"injun" boy" by Shamir Griffin, age 20

To that Lil' "injun" boy, who's heritage came from two races.
Whose true name left question marks on other black faces.
To that Lil' "injun" boy, Who hurt his knee learning Crow Hop,
Being told by others that he should listen to Hip Hop.

To that lil' "injun" boy who gave up pow wows because they
Were for "real indians", The kind his grandmother had been.
The Type that had Been painted "red" by the media.
To that Lil' "injun" boy Who was neither a noble warrior or
a savage, Whose "mestizo" blood swayed more in one direction
than the other.

To that "Black" boy who had never fit in with the "others" who
shared his history. To that lil "black" boy who spoke a language
that was not the one of his forefathers, And would serve as a constant
reminder of who he wasn't, Neither African or Indian.
Not white, but "white washed" Where the "proud" savage and the
"slave" unite.

To that Lil "black & Injun" boy who grew up like a weed, whose
mom fed his need. Who sat "indian style" all throught elementary
school, And wore baggy pants.Whose odd mixture of Two Great
Blood lines, lead to labels like "morocan,brazilian!?"
To That Lil "black & injun" boy who grew to be a man, neither a slave
or a Savage. That loves both "fried Bread" and "fried chicken" no longer
ignorant to his families displacement.
That is from the heart, I hope you understand me a little bit better, even
if it is just a Lil' bit.