You know how to swim, boy?
I know you can float;
felt you bobbing along my surface
before you even knew you could.
They say you just a conflagration
of bad intentions, boy.
Use me to put you out.
Don't want you burning this place down
a little too much L’Ouverture in you,
a little too much Turner,
a little too much of what they already had enough of.
What you see when you look at me?
You know how many of y'all I swallowed?
You just a drop of ink
on this canvas,
They call me blue because
they don't understand how the sky work.
They call you black because
they don't understand how God work.