Inspire me to dream dreams that were as musically inclined as a composition, composed by a new age Bach. Inspire the fight that has never been won, and even when the sun goes down, the earths gravitational pull, makes it go around and round on an axis of course. Where is my inspiration, my hopes of no hope, my feelings that can never be felt, because nothing is real? Tell me where my inspiration derives; who inspires me, because I have no clue. Mama works at night, and my eyes only see her in the daylight.
How am I to be inspired by night, not turning into day when my mom is away. Inspire me to never want to lay eyes and work the cotton field of factories. Inspiration not met or formed by my own identity of the past generations misfortunes, at times I can’t help but wonder how they were inspired by beatings, rape, death, and without hesitation remained slaves. Inspire me to want to be greater than who I am, fore, how can I? because there is literally no me, in the eyes which I see. Every inspiration should come from experience with the drive not to stray off the course. Straight forward does inspiration hide in the minds of those legally blind and feel that the words I speak are not real. For imagery is surreal, when there are no eyes to differentiate my front from behind my eyes and beyond are blackness. Blackness which has no inspiration, so what then, of course statistics. I can’t even understand my math assignments let alone be inspired. Teachers ask, what inspires me, and I look straight ahead blindly or blankly. I couldn’t even say, thank you for trying, but enough of the lies cause those around my way are dying. There is no hope no inspiration to be told to future generations, black lives matter, but we won’t even step in and save us.
My head held high with no inspiration for tomorrow, the day after, which makes me lose my patience. No metaphors to compare for the constant reminder that there is no inspiration which I can find. Inspired by nothing: my blackness is worth nothing more than a face on a shirt or billboard, like the waves at the intermission of games; someone check the scoreboard. We cannot be inspired or inspire anyone else because we are blind to our own killings of black death. So why should I try, why even bother to be inspired by us not knowing that our own lives matter, how to survive? Everyone matters, which places gays in the same race, why would that inspire me to want to face the inspirations of man and man, woman and woman; which makes me feel that inspiration is just a waste… of time. People want to feel superior but not reminded that the youth of our generation are not inspired. Not inspired to learn, be more than the status quo, feel, heal, or even think without social media throwing what they want and do not have in their face. So, tell me when I should be inspired and why, because everything about life as we know it were built upon lies. By the way let’s not forget that the future generations have yet to be inspired, so dry your eyes, this is no surprise; don’t even ask why? The lies of the past have presently represented the lies to come, what about our future?