This is my poem about the everyday life of being an “Black American”


I am a American

But what does that really mean?

I am an American

Labeled by many many things

I am an American

Black, Negro, African American

They’re all the same thing

I am an American

I am an American

Standing alone makes you different

I am an American

They say your wrong for being different

I am an American

But what does that really mean?

Is it being colored , and labeled by the wrong things?

Being judged by walking down the street?

Being brought down by whites,

They feel as though everything they say is right

Is being white like the president?

White privilege is like being heaven sent

They beat the odds of everything

But us? We’re left to suffer with the pain

What do we have to look up to

When pain and poverty is the only thing they set us up to

I am an American

We all stand together as one

I am an a American

I walk in a place look crazy and i’m now considered a bum

I am an American

It takes a strong minded person to think about what that really mean

I am an American

This is only the beginning of my “I Am An American” Dream




Honors Class

More responses from Haun - 4th Hour
More responses from Oak Park High School - Oakland Writing Project
More responses from Michigan
More responses from "creed"