#AmericanWriters #BlackWriters
In an envelope marked: PERSONAL God addressed me a letter. In an envelope marked: PERSONAL
I work all day, Said Simple John, Myself a house to buy. I work all day, Said Simple John,
I sat there singing her Songs in the dark. She said; 'I do not understand The words’.
I am God— Without one friend, Alone in my purity World without end. Below me young lovers
That Justice is a blind goddess Is a thing to which we black are w… Her bandage hides two festering so… That once perhaps were eyes.
Goin’ down the road, Lawd, Goin’ down the road. Down the road, Lawd, Way, way down the road. Got to find somebody
I got to leave this town. It’s a lonesome place. Got to leave this town cause It’s a lonesome place. A po’, po’ boy can’t
When I get to be a composer I’m gonna write me some music abou… Daybreak in Alabama And I’m gonna put the purtiest so… Rising out of the ground like a sw…
I know I am The Negro Problem Being wined and dined, Answering the usual questions That come to white mind
When I was home de Sunshine seemed like gold. When I was home de Sunshine seemed like gold. Since I come up North de
Clean the spittoons, boy. Detroit, Chicago, Atlantic City, Palm Beach.
I look at the world From awakening eyes in a black fac… And this is what I see: This fenced—off narrow space Assigned to me.
You and your whole race. Look down upon the town in which y… And be ashamed. Look down upon white folks And upon yourselves
Well, son, I’ll tell you: Life for me ain’t been no crystal… It’s had tacks in it, And splinters, And boards torn up,
Tell all my mourners To mourn in red — Cause there ain’t no sense In my bein’ dead.
