Why, does it feel like I’m standing on the sidelines?
Seems like the only time I touch the playing field is when its halftime.
A part-time American even though I put in work full-time.
Just for someone to pay attention I got to work over, overtime.
We can all tell the difference, but in another country it’s a different type of recognition.
Didn’t know the word “American” had so many definitions.
When, overseas I’m just that.
But, back home I’m just black.
As if my self-identity just stops at that.
How can we be satisfied with labels, like jersey numbers on our backs?
When, overseas I’m not just that.
They don’t understand the labels of white and black.
Because, we all are much more than that.