The epitomes of a Fender guitar speaks to me just like the vowels of a racial slur that attempts to undermine my abilities

Gritty vocals filled with irony scream a message that only a few can hear

These words are not generated through the media that I engulf, but are raised on the values of such

Values in which are never credited to the success of such men

We are forced to sit back

Listen

Exhale

Breath

Stigmatize and conform to the status quo

Never blink away from the shackles that we are ever so comfortable in, yet attempt to escape from

As our culture is stripped apart from its sole identity

When our work receives no credit, alimony, and is distributed to an elite few that can only sympathize with such

Those same souls who have no idea what the spewing sounds of a slur entails before meeting the irony of pity within good nature

They listen without truly comprehending where the message descended from

The music that I listen to blossomed off of the blood, sweat, and tears of my ancestors

And has led others to turn to such

A sign of hope has been demolished into a four chord tune that will be around only for when the sun sets

And in their honor
I will continue to listen on