Am I? I am.

I am old now so, I think a lot.

I am the one the world forgot.

I sit in my dark room.

Waiting for my impossible groom.

Is this my lot?

I should hope not.

I do think a lot.

I toss and turn my spirit does burn.

I yearn yet churn.

I toss at night. Tense fear of what comes hence.

The light at the end of the tunnel has all too often been a hellish funnel.

There is no summit to the danger when I plummet.

There is no net for me, only a bet for me.

When I die tortured tears will they cry?

Sounds of relief for what they were bequeathed.

My place in this world is the one I made for me up my hanging tree.

My responsibility to be fully me.

I sit in my dark room counting my mistakes.

Never taking short mental breaks.

planting seeds that will not grow and I instantly know.

I sit trying to right wrongs I did not commit.

Convicted of crimes I only predicted.

I watched the truly guilty spin and sin.

Their numbers are great that's how they win.

I may be small and up against a wall.

But I will stand tall.

I will fight and argue with them all.

Yes, I am White. White is not always right.