Say that you want to be apart of my life. That you won’t judge me from my past experiences or the things that people will say about me in the future. Get rid of that fear that other people have given to you and swallow it.
Tell me that I’m a good person, that there’s nothing wrong with me at all. Even though we both know that I’m a lost cause with so many problems, there’s no way I’m normal.
Make yourself defend me in all situations; see the light in my dark battered soul. Imagine that there is nothing but white inside me but we both know it’s all black darkness.
Tell me that you’re never gonna leave me, that things will never change, but that’s just not human nature right? Adapting, altering, the desire to stay alive is what makes you leave.
Tell me your deepest secrets. Let inside your world of doom and draw slight-simple comparisons to mine. Try to relate to me, so that I don’t feel so distant and different from the existence of life itself.
Tell me about your family, let me know where you all are from. Your race. Your wealth. Your love. Your care. Then compare it to my broken and segregated people I live with that I call a family.
Tell me that I’m smart, and that I can accomplishing anything that I try to do. If that was the case then where’s all of the intelligent black men in the media? You ever wondered why people of color are more likely to want to be an NBA or NFL or MLB star or a rapper? It’s because it’s all we see. You don’t find doctors of color. Lawyers of color. Politicians color. Because of COLOR we just don’t know those professions and if we do, then we’re so pinned down by others when we aspire for greater. Has it made sense yet?
Tell me that I’m funny and laugh at my corny a** jokes. You probably don’t understand half the things I’m saying to you anyway, you’ve already become so tired of me speaking.
Tell yourself that you need me. Let the “need” for me outgrow the want for me. Keep lying to me but more importantly to yourself. Acting like life wasn’t great before I jumped into it. I’m not all that exciting.
Say the tragic four letter word that everyone in their right mind is so pressed on. You know the word I’m talking about, It’s everywhere you look. Especially in the bible, but do we even know what it’s like to actually feel this way about somebody? 
Tell me that you like my clothes. My sense of “style.” Act like you’ve never seen them before.
Tell me you like my hairstyle. “Keeping it cool and old school huh?”
Learn how to comfort me when I’m sad, mad or upset. Really feeling down for some strange reason that I can’t actually explain to you. But you’ll nod your head and pretend to understand.
Eventually you’ll discover a passion for me. Don’t. Like Bryson Tiller. Don’t discover this. Because you’ll only have to replace it with something else. Something that makes you happy. As you leave, excelling down the path of finding yourself.
Show that you care by arguing with me, about certain topics that you actually don’t care for.
Don’t try to understand me, you never will.