Freedom is only skin deep.

My imagination,

enthralled by the thought

of a fair world,

Beautifully covered in white snow,

only to discover myself

wallowing in the blue murky water,

stained with the blood and agony of those brave.

Brave enough to say we are the same

even though I'm colored.

My cup remains empty

unfilled with privileged coin

leaving the corner to starve

living the reality that

“Freedom is Only Skin Deep”

But are we the same. In what way?

Does our inequality,

What separates our personality and skin,

Bring a sense of equality?

What skins robe us?

I see you wearing the garments of confidence and wealth

Makes me wonder if this monkey outfit stands out too much.

I’m me, hitting hard topics, questioning the quality of our inequality.

However, my cup remains empty

unfilled with privileged coin

leaving the corner to starve

living the reality that

“Freedom is Only Skin Deep”

Or is it, brain deep? I see you, and you see me, so do we see each other  unequal

Mentally?

I could always draw you anytime, but never as you truly are.

Because you aren't words, nor can I draw.

The parts we see of each other, incomplete.

Random holes cut through us like swiss cheese. Guess I got to restart.

Your portrait is looking quite incomplete.

Almost like our personalities.

So I guess my will remain empty,

And I will live another day,

But freedom will never be defined

We’re not the same, but we have equality in our inequality.

However, that's only if you live in the same world as I.

Freedom might as well be...

Freedom is the world you live in

Freedom is what you want it to be.